


And Though She Be But Little

by Inksplosion



Category: Ranger's Apprentice - John Flanagan
Genre: Canon Divergent, Female Ranger, Gen, remember the ladies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-05-30 19:15:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 27,019
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6436939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Inksplosion/pseuds/Inksplosion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Caitlyn fights destiny and sets out to seek riches and glory instead. A chance meeting with bandits and the Araluen Ranger Corps redirects her self-charted course and promises to give her more than she ever dreamed possible.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Takes place not too long after _Oakleaf Bearers/Battle for Skandia_ and references both _Sorcerer in the North_ and _Kings of Clonmel_. The largest deviations from established canon are minor characters being not-dead and using 'Kate' instead of 'Cait'.

 

* * *

__

_And Though She Be But Little She Be Fierce - W. Shakespeare_

* * *

"Why don't we just sit down and discuss this reasonably?"

The words were conciliatory but the tone with which they were delivered struck Kate Shannon as condescending. She longed to wipe the look of habitual smugness off that face so close to her own—wished to take each remark and force them back down his throat—wanted to make him realize how shallow his power was rooted. Not that she could. She'd tried, time and time again, and nothing made a difference.

"I was not aware there was anything left to discuss," said Kate, balling her hands into fists. The bracelets and bangles on her wrist chimed faintly with the movement. Rage and grief were doing a tango at the back of her throat and she wanted to scream but she kept her voice pitched low and level. She could appear reasonable too. "I announced that I was leaving. All you have to do is say, 'Good-bye,' Adding, 'Have a nice trip,' seems a bit much to expect from you but if you want to do the thing up proper—"

He spun away, giving her a small victory in the ongoing battle. Kate stood straight, having pulled herself to full stature to leave no difference in height between them. Her face was flushed with emotion and each nerve had stretched taut as a bowstring. Flickering firelight played over his back and picked out the metallic embroidery at his cuffs as he paced a few steps to regroup. The gold glittered but his face was shadowed when he deigned to re-engage. "Kate, Kate," he murmured, every inch patronizing and concerned. "You are distraught and over tired."

She jerked out of reach, not wanting to be soothed as if she were one of the hounds drowsing on the hearthstone. She did not argue the description but her mind was made up. She was sick of the differences of opinion which flared into full-blown quarrels whenever conviction outstripped the gloss of polite interaction. There had been one incident too many—and then another, and another, and she was through. Words would not patch this breach. There would be no paper-thin mend over deep scars tonight. Let time and distance have a go at the job. "If you say I am only a silly woman—"

He waved his hands as if the notion had never occurred to him. "No, no, of course not. But what of your son?" The boy in question was only a few paces away, in a dither as to which of them to drag from the other.

"My son?" Kate repeated.

"Aye. If you were to leave, what would happen to him?"

"Only as he pleased."

"Suppose I withdrew my favor?" He tipped his head to one side, daring her to have an answer.

Kate stepped forward, moving into his space as if proximity could lend force to her words. "When you've gone through the trouble of taking his father's name and giving him your own? What a waste," she mocked. He was too fond of his heir to actually carry out the threat and ought to have known better than to drag the boy into the middle. They had made terms on this matter and her presence was not stipulated. "Best wait until you have a second choice before you go alienating the one you have."

He didn't give ground and she felt her eyes cross trying to meet the pale gray orbs so close to her own. But she'd at least made him flinch; scoring a hit against his poorly chosen defense. "And where will you go?"

She tossed her head. "Piracy seems a good choice. I've heard there's plenty of gold on the warm southern seas."

"Kate, be reasonable."

She was as immovable as the stone under her feet. "You be reasonable first," she snapped.

There was nothing to be gained from staying any longer—so she went. Words trailed after her. He was explaining to the boy what it had all been about, working in one last link in a chain to bind her, but she was beyond reach and the words were insubstantial as vapor, falling to the ground without entangling her feet or her heart.

"She's grieving. She doesn't mean half of what she's said. It'll all blow over by morning..."

The heavy velvet of her skirts swept the floor as she strode to her private chamber. He was deluded if he thought she would spend another night under his roof. Grieving! Of course she was grieving! Her husband was dead without a child to his name— _their_ boy heir to a posturing fool— She slammed the door and tore at the laces of her gown. It pooled at her feet and left her shivering in the chill of the room. She stripped off her jewelry; necklaces and baubles falling to silent rest on the crumpled velvet. She'd not take anything that came to her from _him_ or her position in his household.

Kate hurried into a plain linsey dress and pulled her hair back. Her plans had been already made and were ready for execution. A wool mantle and hood would keep her warm tonight and what little she called hers fit into a leather pack. At this late hour, the house was silent and still. Kate ghosted through the hall of the place she'd once called home. Her heart was already gone. She had only to follow, hoping to find it again. The torches burning low on the wall guttered as she pulled the back door open. Outside, the night was crisp and the stars sharp points of light in the darkness.

"Mother?"

"Sean Marc," said Kate, greeting the boy who stepped from the shadows. Her son looked unhappy and she longed to smooth the worry from his brow and kiss him and tell him all would be well again. But he was almost full-grown now and well able to choose his own path.

"You're really going?"

"I said I was."

His shoulders slumped. "Why didn't you ask me to come with you?"

"I—"

"Did you think I'd say no? That I cared more for _this_ than _you?_ " Sean Marc flung out his arm in an encompassing gesture, taking in their surroundings and the accompanying privilege. "Is that it?"

Sudden tears burned against her eyes, turning the small flambeux on the wall into memories of roaring funeral pyres, and Kate blinked them back. "I know you _would_ ," she said. "I'll treasure that thought all down the road. But you've a position and responsibilities I've no right to dictate."

"You have that too—"

"I'm just a pretty face here," she said. "Will you follow or no?"

Her son had the stubborn set to the jaw and angry glare that distinguished her side of the family and he used both expressions at once. "Fine, then!" he said. "If that's what you want I'll stay!"

"Fine."

"Fine!" he repeated, dashing a hand across his eyes in a quick backhanded gesture that almost ruined his bravado.

Kate bit her own lip and tossed her head. No good-bye, then. She went out the door and out through the garden into the city. Grief had taken the lead for now. If she hadn't been emotionally overwrought, perhaps she would have discussed her actions with her son before announcing them. She knew what it was to be caught in a web of duty and expectations. She didn't know how to make it easier to bear so she'd simply thrown the burden at him, trusting him to meet the challenge in his own way.

She walked all through the night and in the morning caught a ride on a wagon of goods headed back to the coast. The teamster saw her as a middle-aged goodwife on her way to the market; a petite woman in a gray linsey dress that didn't quite fit her lean form while a sash of black silk and bands around her forearms marked her as mourning a loved one. Coarse dark hair, already streaked with silver, was pulled back from her oval face into two braids and tucked up into a net of slender black cord which disappeared against her coloring. He chatted on, worried about her being alone on the road.

Kate held her pack on her lap, thanked him for his kindness and assured him she was not as helpless as she seemed.

The coast town was marked by a forest of masts and the reek of fish and saltwater. Kate kilted up her skirts so they wouldn't pick up fish scales from the streets and found passage across the channel on a fishing smack called the _Gull_. She allowed herself one look back, but there was no one coming after her.

Telling herself it was just as well, Kate Shannon shook the dust of Hibernea from her feet and boarded the _Gull._


	2. Chapter 2

Running before the wind, the _Gull_ picked up speed until she skimmed the waves like one of her namesakes. Kate found a spot at the forward rail where she could watch the prow cut through the water. The sky was a sharp-edged blue spilling down into the sea and cutting into the gray-green depths; far off the waves sparkled like shimmering glass. She blinked against the sting of the breeze and the taste of brine on her lips. Moisture beaded on her lashes and dried almost instantly. She folded her arms and slowly relaxed into the rhythm of the ship. It was peaceful here on the open water with everyone absorbed in their own business. There were wet _thumps_ on the deck and the hum of conversation as the nets were hauled in full of flopping silver herring.

A hole appeared in the stifling chrysalis surrounding Kate's heart as pinpricks of light pierced her sorrows. Araluen, green and verdant on the horizon, was full of promise and new beginnings. And if Araluen couldn't fill the empty spot in her heart there was always Iberia—and piracy.

Kate's smile was small and secret. Who would expect a respectable looking woman of her years to harbor aspirations of robbery on the high seas? She could take them all by storm and write her reputation in blood as she willed. Or not—some dreams existed only to dry the damp, quivering dreams of a butterfly by telling them they have the ferocity of a lion. Such plans as she had extended only to boarding a ship and now that she was here she had the feeling of limitless possibilities stretching before her.

Other small ships sailed the straits, colorful sails stark against the sky as they plied their trade between Hibernia, Celtica, and Araluen. The _Gull_ came to rest in the harbor of Salterton, a village on the south-eastern coast of Araluen, in the early afternoon. A sailor in a dirty jacket scrambled over the side to make the smack fast, his fingers nimble on the salt-crusted ropes.

Kate picked her way with steady determination through the fishermen, sailmakers, rope-sellers, fishmongers, and sailors who conducted their business along the waterfront. She'd already had enough of the reek of fish oil and tar that permeated the wharves. On the far side of Salterton, closer to the fields and farmland which were the bread and butter of Araluen, she found a tavern underneath a faded sign with a green blob that might once have been a stylized pony. Pushing through the door, Kate picked one of the beech benches and dropped her pack on the floor next to her foot.

The room was almost empty this time of day and the tavern keeper, a rotund man with twinkling eyes that almost disappeared when he smiled, bustled over to welcome her. Kate ordered a drink and a handpie, and he nodded knowingly on hearing the lilt in her words. "Ah," he said. "We get a fair number of Hibernians thinking to try their luck this side 'o the water."

Kate returned his gaze. "It's the same on the other side," she said. "There's always someplace better than where ye started from."

"Perhaps you're seeking someone?" he guessed. He liked to talk, feeling he dispensed wisdom as well as drinks, and this woman's story would wile away the time until the evening rush.

"Perhaps," she allowed. Kate didn't like people prying into her affairs. But it was a slow day and she couldn't entirely discourage the tavern keeper's curiosity. His desire to be helpful read between the lines and extrapolated from her vague hints. She was amused to find herself cast as well-to-do and supplied with a runaway son in short order. There was just enough truth in the notion that she didn't bother correcting his impression. Kate learned there were groups of Hibernian nationals who kept in touch with one another while making their homes in Araluen.

"It's quite the little community," the tavern keeper assured her. "You'd be hard pressed to slip past their notice. You'll find your lad, I've no doubt! I wish I could say I'd seen him myself, but with one thing and another he's clean gone out of my memory." He gave her a name and address when he brought her meal, and urged her not to be shy.

Kate let the afternoon stillness settle around her like a velvet cloak while she worked her leisurely way through the meat and pastry. When the host was otherwise occupied there was a pervading quiet in the long, low, room. She'd been accustomed to bustle and glittering furor in the house she had left and the change was welcome. Even moving her hands without the chime and clink of bracelets was an unexpected freedom. She couldn't think of a time the house had been without conflict. Tension had seeped into the walls and oozed through the cracks, leaving no one untouched, not even the boy who would inherit it. Kate stumbled over the memory of her parting with Sean Marc. She knew exactly where her son was, and he wasn't breaking his mother's heart by running away and vanishing into a foreign landscape.

But years ago there _had_ been a family story that went something like that... A boy had gone out the back door without looking back and hadn't returned. His memory lingered still, a shadow flickering in the torchlight, vanishing around a corner ahead of her, beckoning her on...

She mulled over the possibilities open to her. It wasn't like she had anything better to do. What might her brother be like, if he lived? Would he know her? Would he be glad that she'd expended effort to find him? Would they have anything in common or would they be as strangers with one another?

Enough time had passed to make finding traces unlikely. But Kate Shannon told herself she'd look. If all she found was a grave, she'd leave her regrets there.

The Hibernian recommended by the tavern keeper didn't know her brother—no surprise there—but Kate was met with warm sympathy and reasonable advice. She was even offered a position with a merchant caravan as a muleteer to help her on her way. She accepted, astonished by her reception. She'd expected a shrug of the shoulders or a reiteration of how impossible it would be to find someone who didn't want to be found.

The caravan was seventy mules divided into strings of five, each string led by a muleteer, and led by a man named Ricard. Kate met his skeptical look with her coldest stare, and he dropped his eyes to the dusty toes of his boots. "I'm sure you'll be fine," he said.

"I'm sure I will too," she said.

Ricard's wife sniffed, and Kate caught a muttered comment about "foreign folk" which sent hot prickles down her spine. Kate clenched her hands until her nails bit into her palms, but didn't retaliate. The other woman might be unfriendly but she was entitled to her own opinion. Kate's self-confidence took a second blow when she was introduced to the five mules she would wrangle. All but one were lanky animals of an indeterminate brown color with long faces and floppy ears, intelligent eyes, and an utter indifference to her presence. The last was a black mule with a wicked gleam in his eye.

Most of the caravan took little notice of Kate, except when it became clear that despite her air of self-sufficiency and fierce practicality she had never handled a mule before. The first morning's entertainment was watching her be the last to start her string and expending more effort in the process than the other drivers. She strode along next to the animals, keeping them moving with a selection of creative curses and sheer stubbornness.

The contest between mules and woman continued day after day, with the woman winning only because she was still with the caravan when it would stop for the night. Every evening she swore off mules forever, and every morning she picked up the lead rope again because she'd given her word and was drawing wages. Bandits lurked in the thick belt of oak forest which ran across much of the western Araluen fiefs and her fellow teamsters loudly wondered what would happen should she have the ill-luck to meet any of them. "Sure, and I'd be saying good riddance to these beasts!" she snarled.

It was a joke, of course, because the muleteers were honest enough to admit that the hair-raising stories they dragged out around the night fires were from years past. Under Duncan's rule, banditry had gone from a profitable business to a dangerous prospect. Individual barons were responsible for tracking down criminals and bringing them to justice in their fiefs and those they didn't get the King's Rangers tracked down; leaving the roads safe for travelers of all sorts.

Kate was not the only woman in the caravan. Some of the muleteers, like the caravan master, were accompanied by their wives. But she was the only one to manage her own string. These ladies, capable as their husbands on the road, looked askance at Kate as she fumbled. But by the end of the first week one of the other women informed Kate that she was improving with practice. "Though, mind," the Araluen added, "I'm not sure what possessed you to start learning the trade on the job."

"Mule-headed arrogance," suggested Kate, hoping this presaged a cessation in the barbed remarks whispered behind her back.


	3. Chapter 3

The caravan made good time even on the two days when it rained continually and the road turned to churned mud past the ankle. Kate pulled the wool mantle from her pack. By pulling the hood far forward she kept the rain from running into her eyes. She was damp to the skin and her feet and the hem of her gown were liberally coated with wet earth. But the sun returned, and damp gear dried. The mules perked up and grabbed mouthfuls of grass to chew as they walked, their jaws moving in unison with their hooves. Marching songs featuring good King Duncan, star-crossed lovers, and other folk heroes drifted down the mule line. Ricard called it a smooth trip and encouraged his folk to begin counting the profits they'd make when they arrived at Castle Berean in Meric Fief.

"Come on, Kate," urged Willum, a grizzled muleteer who had offered her good advice and spared a few minutes when she'd despaired of ever keeping to the road to crack his whip with authority over the big black mule that bossed the others in her string. "Can't you look happy that we're almost there?"

She raised an eyebrow. "I prefer to count my chickens after they're hatched, thank you."

"You're as gloomy as this stretch of road," he said.

"It does have a lonely feel to it, doesn't it?" said Kate. Objectively, it wasn't much worse than other stretches of road since they started—and it was dry, which was a major plus to her way of thinking since she still felt that the odor of wet mule would cling to her garments in perpetuity—but once one started worrying it was easy to feel the hair on the back of your neck rise with the crack of a twig.

Visibility was poor in this area. The bowshot of cleared sward to either side of the highway was overgrown with brush and gorse and clouds and thick stands of trees obscured the sun. The road twisted and turned through the forest, picking its way along a river gorge, and the mule train spread out in a long line of nose-to-tail travelers, their handlers scattered along the length of the caravan. From her position at the tail-end, Kate couldn't see even to the middle of the line.

She had the feeling that something—or someone—was following them. She'd catch a flicker of movement in the brush out of the corner of her eye, the whatever-it-was moving with an agility suggesting there was either a trail lower down or that it had a coat of bristly fur which rejected the clinging brambles. The persistence suggested human reasoning, and she felt for the dagger she kept strapped to her thigh, checking to be sure it slid easily out of its sheath.

The black mule took it into his head that he had been walking for long enough and stopped. He snorted as the other animals attached to the line met resistance and jerked on his head. They were quick to halt as well instead of dragging the defector forward. Kate tugged and prodded, trying to get them moving again. The mules only blinked as she called them horrible names and deprecated their ancestry.

While she was struggling with them, bandits fell on the caravan with whoops and shouts. Their descent from the trees was perceived as a wave of attackers and caught the few caravan guards flatfooted. Kate, at the extreme rear of the caravan, had the five steps it took the bandit to reach her from where she ought to have been to drop the lead rein and turn on her heels.

Mules scattered, braying protests and adding to the noise and confusion. Willum—shouting angrily and clumsily defending himself with his whip handle—ducked under the blow from a sword and had no attention to spare for his companion's fate.

But Kate hadn't gone far. She circled round the fray and threw herself on the bear-like man who had attacked Willum. Coming up behind the bandit she threw a slender piece of leather strapping around his neck and pulled back with all her might. He choked, and tried to struggle, but he couldn't twist his arms to strike at her effectively. She stuck with him until his face turned purple and his body went limp.

Willum blinked as his attacker slid to the ground in front of him, revealing Kate. She coiled the strap cut from her mule's bridle rein around her hand and seized the sword the bandit had carried. "Don't just stand there," she urged, and threw herself into the fray, shouting a meaningless war cry.

"A'carrick! A'carrick!"

It had a ring to it, and was easily distinguishable from the other cries and shouts in the melee. Others picked it up, the muleteers rallying about the petite woman.

Kate took great satisfaction in the moment she distracted a greasy bandit from snatching at the purse of the caravan master's wife and sent him fleeing in the other direction after the first cross of weapons. The other woman was left wide-eyed and staring, astonished by the mastery of the bland little foreigner who had blazed up to counter the attack.

The bandits, meeting resistance, melted away carrying off such plunder as they could grab in their flight. Kate was left master of the field. She cleaned the sword on the tunic of a fallen bandit without really thinking about what she was doing. Breathing hard, heart still thudding in her chest, she looked around. Shocked and shaken faces of her comrades looked back at her, awaiting direction.

The wounded were groaning in pain. Willum appeared at her side and Kate turned to him. "Find bandages. I'll see who is worst off."

"Aye, mistress," he said.

Her sharp commands galvanized others into action. One of the muleteers had been a soldier in the last fight with the former baron of Gorlan and had a rudimentary knowledge of cleaning and binding wounds. With his help, they sorted through who was hurt and who was only stunned. They gathered the five dead—two from the caravan and three of the bandits—and laid them out with their cloaks over their faces. A wagon was emptied so that the wounded could be transported. Kate set others to catch the mules which had scattered during the attack but not gone far.

"Where's the nearest village? Ahead or behind?"

Woodgrove was supposed to be only a few miles ahead and Kate pushed them back on the road. Ricard and his wife were shaken and almost useless. The woman could only clutch at her purse and exclaim, "You could have been killed!" Kate gave up on getting coherent thoughts out of Ricard and turned to one of the younger merchants who hadn't lost his head in the ambush and had stood his ground with admirable courage and a little bit of skill with the long dagger he carried.

"What's to be done about the bandits, Jeron?"

Jeron shrugged uneasily. "I suppose word'll get to the Rangers that there's a robber band along this stretch. They'll take care of it."

"Oh, aye?" demanded Kate. "We've bloodied them, and now's the time to follow them to their lair—not later when the trail's gone cold and they've gone to earth."

He nodded. "We're grateful to you, Mistress Shannon. Why didn't you say you could fight?"

She'd thrust the bare sword through her belt and it rode at her side like a sharp silver baton. She snorted. "It ought to have been obvious that if I didn't know mules I had to know _something_."


	4. Chapter 4

They reached Woodgrove in the late afternoon, just as the sun was beginning to drop toward the horizon. The whitewashed walls and thatched roofs of the village were greeted with as much relief as the palisade of a fortress. The first string of mules was urged into a trot by the fitter members of the caravan, each eager to reach the security of an established settlement.

"Steady!" Kate warned, holding them back with difficulty. There'd been no further sign of the bandits and she was reasonably confident that their attackers had retreated to lick their wounds but relying on that sort of confidence got good people killed in pointless encounters. There was safety in numbers—and she didn't want to panic the villagers.

She halted the caravan in the central square in good order. Curious villagers came out of their houses and a buzz of questions arose. A child was sent to fetch the headman—who had been working in his garden—and to Kate's relief he proved helpful as well as loudly indignant. Various of his people were dispatched for hot drinks, salves, and bandages and the village hall was opened to house the battered and weary muleteers.

The headman was a one-armed veteran of the army and his assistance was everything Kate could have wished. At the earliest possible moment she drew him aside. "How does one go about contacting a Ranger?"

He blinked at her, pulling at his mustache and trying to decide what to make of this woman with the faint lilt in her voice who barked orders and carried a sword with the air of one who knew how to use it. "Well... the nearest ranger is based up at the castle, I suppose..."

"How quickly could I get there?"

Her earnestness penetrated his slow cogitations, and he shook his head. "No, no, mistress. You must be tired! I'll send one of our lads. He'll know the shortcuts through the runs."

The lad proved to be a sharp-faced youth who boasted that he was fleet of foot. "If the ranger is in residence, he'll be here by morning," he promised, and Kate nodded and slipped him a coin.

"Aye, that'll please me fine. There'll be another for you if you can keep to that time frame."

The headman gestured to Kate's hand, which was still wrapped with a bit of leather strapping. "You ought to get that seen to, mistress."

She glanced down, unused to solicitude, and patted the thin leather. "That? That's a garrote, not a bandage. I'm not hurt. I've only a few bruises. But thank you kindly."

He pulled his mustache, surprised again. "So, then. If you are certain. Let me know if there is anything else you need."

Kate and Jeron went among the survivors and assessed the damage to the caravan. They'd lost two muleteers and three more had been seriously injured. The loss in animals and goods would cut into the profits but Willum, having been through bandit attacks before, assured her they had sustained minimal damage and would be able to move out as usual in a day or so.

"You're a marvel, mistress," murmured Jeron. "They might have taken everything."

She dismissed the praise with a wave of her hand.

Darkness fell, and the few fires lit to cook food for the caravan burned down to embers. The caravan guards had been set out in watches and Willum, having seen the mules bedded down for the night, returned to the hall. Surrounded by the grunts and whuffles of restless sleepers he shook his head. He found Kate with the bridle of her lead mule, a thin leather strap, and the broken rein. By the light of an oil lamp she was attempting to mend the rein where she'd sliced through it to create a strangling rope. The lamp made a small circle of light. Blood was caked on Kate's cheek and tendrils of hair had escaped her braids to curl along her forehead giving her a look both fierce and worn. "You should rest, mistress. I'll do that for you."

She bit off a curse as the needle slipped off the bit of waxed thread and lost itself on the floor. "That'd be uncommon kind of you. Mind you wake me if anything stirs."

"Aye, I will," Willum promised, watching Kate stretch out on one of the benches, using her pack as a pillow and pulling her cloak over her for a blanket. He kept his fingers crossed behind his back—just in case. He was certain she'd earned her rest. The guards would attend scrupulously to their work and he'd handle anything minor.

The sharp-faced boy earned himself the promised two coins. Dawn was barely a pink ribbon on the horizon when the ranger entered Woodgrove and was hailed by a caravan guard. "Who goes there?"

"King's Ranger. Gilan Davidson of Merric Fief. Where can I find the caravan master?"

Ricard wasn't much use, being just awakened and still too upset by the attack to have put his thoughts in any order, but the ranger listened quietly, chin in hands, while the caravan master fumbled through his story. "Mistress Shannon did most of it, you know." He waved vaguely in Kate's direction, acknowledging that he owed the woman a debt of gratitude.

"Is that so?" murmured Gilan. "Then let's hear her story."

Kate stood at Ricard's shoulder, her face composed into neutral lines and her posture straight as an arrow. Willum had woken her when he heard the thud of hooves on the gravel outside. She'd kept the sword thrust through her belt with her kilted skirts, but she'd run a cloth over her face to make herself presentable.

_A courier_ , guessed the ranger, who was a lanky fellow with a pleasant face and wore a sword himself. As Gilan expected, Kate gave him a clear account of the battle—and a clear plan for action—instead of rambling story.

"We'll have to put together a squad and go after them," she finished.

Gilan stood and stretched. "A squad won't be necessary," he told her, wondering if he needed to revise his opinion. Her accent was Hibernean and Araluen couriers would be well acquainted with ranger skills. "One riot, one ranger. But you could come along and watch the fun." She'd know where to pick up the trail.

"Aye, then?" Kate responded, raising an eyebrow. She'd heard stories about the King's Rangers from the muleteers, but wasn't impressed by talk alone. "What are we waiting for?"

Willum bridled the black mule for her and she pressed the mule into a service to which it had not hitherto been subjected. Astride the broad back of the animal, she kept pace with Blaze, Gilan's bay mare. They covered the distance between the village and the ambush site in an hour while the sun crossed the horizon to turn the sky to a pale gold and picked out the drops of dew in the grass as diamonds. There, among the oaks, she took Gilan over the battle again. He nodded, reading the truth in every track she pointed out.

The earth was still soft from the rainstorms the previous week and ranger and woman easily followed the bandits' trail. Stolen mules had slipped on their way down into the gorge, leaving wide scuffs in the earth. Blaze and the black mule took their time, picking their footing carefully, and their riders trusted their mounts to carry them safely.

Blackberry brambles had flowered, their small white blossoms opening to the sunlight. Bees buzzed about, and a trout leaped out of the river and made a great splash as it returned to its lair below. A jay complained about the intrusion of men into the river bottoms. Gilan looked back at the switchback they'd followed down. "Somehow, I don't think they've gone very far."

"I smell cooking fires and washing," said Kate and Gilan chewed the inside of his lip. He couldn't shake the feeling that she was determined to break every effort at ranger mystique he attempted. He was also impressed by her attention to detail.

"Going to tell me what they had for breakfast?"

"Do you really want to know?"

He didn't, so they tethered Blaze and the mule in a thicket and crept closer to the bandit camp. Kate stepped silently, keeping herself moving through the tangled undergrowth along the path of least resistance without fuss or catching her garments on a blackberry bramble. She grumbled quietly when she realized that Gilan had vanished.

"It might be nice if that ranger magic of yours could move me into position as easily as breathing too—"

Only a few paces away, he grinned. She wasn't doing so badly herself.

The bandits had taken refuge in one of the caves among the broken shale cliffs of the river bottom. There were only ten of them. Big-boned men and women with faces marked by depravity and vile living, they slouched about and hurled insults at one another. Dirty laundry had been hung to air out, and there were bandages on broken heads and mottled bruises to tell the tale of the fight with the muleteers.

Gilan's nose twitched. A coffee pot hung over the fire.

"Do you see any other ways out of the cave?" he asked.

Kate shook her head. It was only a shallow depression in the rocks—if it went anywhere, the passage was hidden from sight. But she was certain there were no exits higher up the gorge.

"Then you go left and keep them from getting away the way we came. I'll talk to them." Gilan gave Kate a thumbs up and took up his position on the far side of the clearing. Sunlight flashed off his sword blade, and she returned the salute.

It was as Kate predicted the day before. Bloodied by the resistance the caravan had put up, their confidence shaken, the bandits quickly lost their fight when they found themselves confronted with the prospect of fighting a King's Ranger. Most tried to flee and stopped abruptly when Gilan put an arrow in front of their noses.

"Next time it goes through your ears," he warned.

Only one made it to the path. He had a bright, clever, look in his eye, and though he faltered when Kate stepped out of the trees he smiled when he realized that only a small woman holding a sword barred his way. He drew his own weapon and charged at her like a bull.

Kate looked down at him scornfully. He'd missed the bit of vine she'd pulled across the path at knee height and gone down hard, the sword flying out of his hand. She kicked it out of his reach and pricked him under the chin with her own blade. "Now you'll have another fair set of bruises. You should have listened to the ranger."

Still thinking he had a chance, he tried to bat her sword away with a heavy hand and cut himself across the palm for his pains. She clouted him behind the ear, knocking him unconscious, and tied him up. In front of the cave Gilan was performing the same duty on the other nine bandits. Kate started at the far end of the line and worked her way toward her comrade-in-arms.

"It's a fine thing to be a ranger," she observed, jerking tight the knots around the wrists of each prisoner she bound and making sure no slack was allowed.

"It's not so bad," agreed Gilan. He stepped back and surveyed the neat job of ten bandits trussed up like chickens with satisfaction. "Coffee?" he asked, helping himself to a cup of the brew that had been simmering over the fire.

Kate sipped the black beverage she'd been offered. "Corovan," she said. "Our bandits seem to have been living well."

"Mmmmm," said Gilan, not wanting to admit he had no idea if she was right or not. He changed the subject. "So who are you, really? I thought you were a courier at first; you have that air and training one expects from them, but unless you've a reason for keeping to your cover as 'Mistress Shannon, muleteer' you're a stranger in these parts."

She raised her eyebrow. "I've a fine reason for being Mistress Shannon."

"Oh?"

"It's my name," said Kate. "Kate Shannon, if you wish to drop the formality."


	5. Chapter 5

With the capture of the bandits complete—they were bound and laid out like cordwood; helpless under the calculating eye of a King's Ranger—the adrenaline slipped away, leaving Kate with a cold, hard, knot in the pit of her stomach. For the second time in as many days she was master of a battlefield. This time she had a logistics problem staring her in the face. She and Gilan were two against ten and 'magic spells' rarely held against raw terror and unthinking panic. They had to bring their prisoners in to justice alive and she didn't have a plan yet.

"I'm going to check the cave," she said, putting down the empty coffee cup and checking the prisoners one last time before letting them out of her sight. Gilan waved her away, already interested in the contents of a satchel which had lain near the fire.

Pondering the problem, Kate entered the cave. She'd been the one to do a perimeter sweep to be sure the area was secure and that they'd captured all the bandits. The ranger was competent, but he was only a little older than her own son. The confidence of youth made him reckless, and she'd been swept along by his self-assurance. But while the reputation of the Ranger Corps had carried them through the encounter it was surely too much to ask for it to keep the bandits meek and mild on the road.

The interior of the cave was dim and cool, full of shadowy shapes. Closer inspection made them into bundles of goods: bales of fabric, chests of wheat, casks of beer and ale, and other valuable articles were scattered about. Some of the goods had been ruined by the robbers pawing through the packages to see what was in them, but much of it was untouched. Stenciled writing on a linen bag of coffee beans confirmed her identification of the brew as Corovan in origin, and she tied it to her belt as partial payment for her part in the capture.

A crack high in the wall indicated another passage and she clambered up for a better look. The rock was damp and slimy under her hand, and there were cobwebs and trailing roots crossing the path to convince her that no one had used this route in some time. Satisfied, she retraced her steps toward the main chamber.

"Kate?" called Gilan.

"Up here," she answered, waiting until he'd looked all around before finally realizing that when she said _up_ she'd meant _over his head_ and found her. She clambered back down and assured him that there would be no surprises from that direction.

"Oh, good," he said. "I've found the mules."

They discussed the logistics of returning with both prisoners and the goods while Kate looked over the animals. She was greeted with an ear flop and a rusty bray from one of the rawboned animals. "Oh, aye?" she challenged it. "You'll do your share, Buster."

There was a chuckle from her companion. Kate stilled, keeping her eyes on the sleepy mules, and kept her voice low and even. "Don't look now, but someone comes through the trees."

The bird calling in the surrounding forest didn't sound entirely natural. Kate felt for her dagger, thinking the capture had been entirely too easy. She moved around the mule, pretending she was checking his feet, but maneuvering herself for a better view of the cleared area by the cave.

Gilan didn't take her advice, instead turning toward the trail and whistling a reply. Then he waved. "You're late!" he called cheerfully. "The fun is over and we bagged the whole lot."

Another ranger appeared among the trees, riding on a steeldust gelding and carrying an arrow on the string of bow as tall as he was. He was followed by a second ranger mounted on a small, shaggy, pony of mottled dove-gray. Their weapons were of high quality, and similar enough to Gilan's gear that she could see they originated from the same place. The faint patterns in their cloaks had helped hide their approach. Kate breathed a sigh of relief. Reinforcements would solve several logistical problems.

"So I see," replied the first newcomer.

"You see, Mistress Shannon," Gilan explained, "This stretch of land lies where two fiefs intersect. I had your messenger run on and call at Redmont in case we had a long trail and some effort to get hold of the bandits. Your promptness kept that from being necessary—and so here we all are."

Kate nodded.

With three rangers to keep them in hand, the prisoners gave no trouble and they made short work of packing the evidence of the crimes. Kate was assisted by the third ranger, whose name was Will. When Will threw his hood back he reveled he was a curly-headed youth with a bright smile. His friendly nature bubbled over with lively curiosity and enthusiasm. "What brings you out here, Mistress?"

"I'm looking for my brother," she said. "It's as good an excuse as any."

"Is he missing?"

"Not exactly," she admitted. "He left home years ago and we haven't heard from him since. His trail is long cold, of course, but I was told rangers might know how to cut a fresh sign. But if this is typical, ye must be fair busy."

"Not so busy we can't help you out," called Gilan. "I can spare you a little of my time—at least help you figure out where to start looking. In fact, why don't you describe him? We might as well pool our resources and make a beginning now."

"Well now," said Kate. "I'd guess he's of a height as your friend—" indicating the second, and silent, ranger with a nod of her head. "Last I saw of him, he was a dark-headed lad with an ill-favored look and a few small freckles over his nose. He'd scowl and as soon flay you with words as pass the time o' day."

"Why do you want to find him?" asked Will, frowning over the description.

"He's my brother," she answered. "And he was fond o' me, as much as he was fond o' anyone. He ran off and left his mother and family to grieve. Now I've the means to search for him, I intend to find the truth."

Dividing the remnants of the coffee in the pot between the himself and his companion, Will put the fire out and kicked dirt over the ashes. Gilan retrieved Blaze and the mule while Kate and the two Redmont rangers drove the protesting bandits and a long string of mules back up the hill again to the roadway. The prisoners complained of everything from sprained ankles to the impossibility of climbing with their hands bound behind their backs.

"You should have thought of that before you turned to a life of crime," said Kate, showing no sympathy. The switchback had an easy grade. It had to, if the bandits were to run up it and take their places to emerge on unsuspecting travelers.

The older ranger glanced over at Kate, and she raised her chin, aware that she was grubby after hunting through the cave, and that her hair was tangled and escaping its braids. But he made no comment, only studying her face for a long moment.

Gilan met them at the top, and Kate swung herself up atop the black mule, gathering the reins in capable hands. The pace back to Woodgrove was slow which suited the mules fine and left plenty of time for talking.

"Hiberneans tend to stick together," said Gilan. "If your brother crossed to Araluen—"

"—he's no back home—"

"—then we ought to cut his trail," said the ranger. "Twenty years ago, or so, there was a big battle with one of the barons. Any number of able-bodied fighters ended up in the army. There are copies of the payrolls in Arald's library. We can check those, hopefully find his name, find out which fief he was in at the time..."

Kate brightened. "Aye! That's a good idea."

Gilan, remembering the rolls from the most recent engagement with Morgareth, hoped to narrow the search in the archives. "Was he a swordsman like yourself?"

"He'd have distinguished himself with the bow, I'm thinking," said Kate. "He could split a wand at two hundred paces."

Gilan whistled softly. "That's some shooting. What's his name?"

"Albrian."

"Oh." The ranger sounded disappointed.

"That's not a very common name," said Will. "It's sort of memorable, isn't it?"

"Common enough where I came from," said Kate. "It was quite popular around the time our Prince Albrian was born—people thought it'd be lucky to name their children after the future king."

"That turned out well," said the third ranger, the tone of his voice suggesting dry sarcasm, speaking for almost the first time since their arrival.

"Better for some than for others."

"Does this mean you met someone who fit the description, Halt? Do you know—?" asked Gilan, eager on Kate's behalf. The other ranger concentrated on the road ahead and didn't answer. Gilan and Will exchanged glances and then Gilan grimaced. "That can't be good. I'm sorry, mistress..."

Kate hadn't missed the flinch invoked when she'd mentioned her brother's name and had already come to a similar conclusion. "You're trying to think of a tactful way to say Albrian is dead, aren't you?"

"Aye," growled Halt. "Drowned and gone years ago."

"Aye, then?" she countered. "I have heard that story but I don't believe it. It was a fair day and Albrian no such a bad hand at swimming. If they'd capsized and struck a deep current, why did the boat come back at all?"

"Turn of the tide," the ranger suggested.

"No," she said. "He was canny for all that, my brother. I think it more like the name dragged at his heels and he cut loose instead." Kate shook her head. "I don't care what he's done. I'll find someone who remembers a dark Hibernean forester even if it means reading the entire army roll looking for an assumed name."

"Wait a second," said Gilan. "You think he changed his name? But Halt—? Why?"

Will was looking between Kate and Halt. She winked at the boy. "Because, as your friend already pointed out, being named after that particular prince wasn't the most auspicious of starts in life. Far better to start anew with no preconceived expectations to fight... to be accepted for one's strengths..."

"You've made your point, Kate," said Halt. He sighed. "But that doesn't change the fact that Albrian is dead."

Kate felt a thrill start at her toes and work its way up to the crown of her head. She fought the smile that wanted to stretch her face. It hadn't been a direct admission—but then, she hadn't given the ranger her first name when they met. If he had let the conversation go without comment, she wouldn't have thought to look for a family resemblance under the graying beard and haphazard fall of hair. "Of course," she said, brisk and matter-of-fact. "I know that. I went to the funeral. It was lovely, by the way. You should have come."

"I was busy."

"Admit it, you're happy to see me!" she said. She was glad to see _him_ , glad to hear 'Kate' used with affection and not frustration or disdain, glad to trade banter instead of edged remarks.

Halt rolled his eyes. "Not when you describe me as having an 'ill-favored' look."

"You're her brother?" Will asked his mentor, wanting to be certain.

"Yes," said Halt, shortly. "What of the—family?"

"I didn't fake my death, if that's what you're asking, but I _did_ quarrel with the king in keeping with established tradition," said Kate.

"I thought that was a new thing," said Gilan.

"That was not a quarrel, Gilan" said Halt. " _That_ was a difference of opinion. Quarrels are much... messier."

"Drowning seems to have agreed with you," said Kate. Now there were friends who worried about him.

"Impossible child," he muttered.

"Brat," she tossed back.


	6. Chapter 6

Arrangements were made in Woodgrove with the caravan and Kate took her leave of Ricard, Willum, Jaron, and the other muleteers. Most of them said they'd miss her. Willum took her string—except for the black mule which she continued to ride. The prisoners were put in a cart with a roof and bars and driven toward Castle Redmont. The rangers followed at a distance.

"I thought we were in Meric fief," said Kate. "Why the change in jurisdiction?"

Gilan patted the satchel which was slung at his side. "Far-ranging depredations. Redmont has the authority to dispense intra-fief justice."

"Ah," said Kate. She'd heard of King Duncan's multi-layered court system.

"Also, Arald has the better cook," added Halt.

Kate grinned. "Far be it from me to keep you from enjoying your meal."

They reached Castle Redmont in the late afternoon and spent a couple of hours swearing to the identity of the prisoners and the veracity of Kate's report of the ambush on the caravan. The clerks respected Halt, but that didn't stop them from ensuring that all the paperwork was properly filled out and filed. A gangling junior scribe greeted Will with enthusiasm and assisted them with much of the process. He then joined their party on the way down to the great hall for supper.

"That's George," said Halt. "He and Will grew up together as wards of the castle."

George, hearing his name, turned and offered Kate his hand. "It is a pleasure to meet you, Mistress."

"Likewise," said Kate, gripping the boy's hand in a quick, firm, shake.

She was content to let the others lead through the unfamiliar tangle of passages, but George cleared his throat nervously. "Ah. Um. Errr—don't you also have to report to Lady Pauline?" He waved to a hallway they'd just passed.

Kate looked to Halt for an explanation.

"She's Head Courier here at Redmont," said George. "Surely you know her?"

"Ah," said Kate. This was the second time the Service had been mentioned in connection with herself. "I'll take that as a compliment, but I'm not a courier."

"They're ladies of insight and hidden talents. Diplomats... gatherers of information... trusted messengers for the King." Gilan shrugged his shoulders expressively. "Sort of like indoor rangers. They'll sometimes take on inside jobs, like traveling incognito with a caravan along a route known to be frequented by bandits, and get a look at the criminals that way."

"And _I_ strike you as such a woman?"

"That was why I asked in the first place," said Gilan. "I haven't met any trained as a swordswoman yet, but I can't think of any other reasonable explanation for your spread of talents." He gave her a winning smile. "Unless you're a knight?"

George's eyes went wide.

"You're guessing!" said Kate, delighted.

The younger men looked to Halt, who shook his head. He wasn't going to get involved.

"Merchant's wife," said Kate. "The threat of bandits and brigands will drive anyone to study a weapon."

"Your speech is more like the gentry," ventured George.

"Ah, now there's a compliment. It's usually said I sound like a fishwife." Kate felt her heart warmed by the sincere assumptions of the Araluens. The camaraderie and good humor fostered here at Redmont seemed to come from the top down. No wonder Halt had stayed. Perhaps tomorrow she would visit this Lady Pauline and see if the couriers could use her skill set.

The rangers chose a spot at one of the tables at the far end of the great hall where they could observe most of the room and wouldn't be noticed themselves. Kate took the seat between Halt and Gilan. Will and George were on the far side of Halt and George was describing an archiving project to his friend with sweeping hand gestures. As promised, the laden dishes passed up and down the table contained a delectable meal. Midway through the first course a fat man in a white coat and idly twirling a ladle between his fingers left the kitchen. Halt leaned back in his seat to exchange pleasantries and Kate heard the chef ask if there was anything they needed.

Kate leaned over, extending the mug she'd been given at the beginning of the meal. "Some coffee would be nice—the stuff served earlier was pretty insipid."

All three rangers looked at her, then at the chef.

"Kate Shannon, Master Chubb, craftmaster of the kitchens at Castle Redmont. Chubb—Mistress Shannon." Halt hurried through the introduction. "You're on your own from here, Kate."

Kate rolled her eyes. Apparently Chubb had a reputation and her brother had just thrown her to the wolf. She met Chubb's outraged gaze squarely. "I'm sure you serve better stuff than this Gallic provincial blend."

"What would you like, milady?" inquired the chef, and something in his mild tone had Gilan shifting discreetly in his seat. Will scooted away to get out of range of the ladle.

"A south Arridan blend would be heavenly," said Kate, sticking to her point. If this fellow was any good at his job he'd recognize what she was looking for. "Corovan is acceptable. I like the blend out of Burghamhurst, and failing that—something black."

"Ah," said Chubb. "I will see what I can do." He glanced at Halt, as if asking, _Is she with you?_ The ranger nodded, and the chef pursed his lips thoughtfully before turning back to his conversation with Halt.

When Chubb had returned to his kitchen, George shook his head. "It's been nice knowing you mistress." The young scribe seemed entirely sincere.

Kate sniffed. "If he attacks me with his ladle, I'll take it away and feed it to him. But he strikes me as a professional."

Chubb came back with a tray of miniature mugs, their contents hot and aromatic. "Which is to your liking?" he asked.

Kate sampled each in turn, closing her eyes and savoring the flavor. Chubb had gone above and beyond her request—and yet it was a test as well. She gave her opinion on the origin of each and when she finished the chef was nodding and the ladle was tucked away in the crook of his arm.

"My apologies, Mistress Shannon. I misjudged you."

She rose and made him a deep curtsy. "I come off as abrupt at times and I apologize as well, Master Chubb. Rumor of your culinary talent and the hospitality of your kitchen has not been exaggerated."

While she was talking, Halt palmed the sample of the Corovan blend and sniffed appreciatively. "If I'd know all I had to do was ask I'd have done it years ago..."

The rest of the evening went smoothly. They parted ways with George in the castle courtyard and rode the two miles out to Halt's cabin in a little wooded clearing. The night was clear and crisp, and the stars twinkled cheerily in the dark sky. The sound of hooves was a dull thud against the packed earth of the trail.

"May I ask what happened to your husband?" asked Gilan, who had clearly been wondering this for some time now.

"He was killed in a Scandian raid about six months ago," said Kate. The line between her shoulders stiffened and there was a brittle quality to the words which suggested the pain was still fresh.

"I'm sorry," said Gilan. "You—must miss him very much."

"Aye," Kate agreed, blinking back the tears which sprang to her eyes in response to Gilan's sincerity. They hung cold and sharp on her lashes. "It's part of why I wanted a change of scenery. Everywhere I turned all I could see was life without Marc. It—it was too much—and I wasn't going to sit around and do _nothing_."

"Then you intend to stay in Araluen?" asked Will.

"Aye," said Kate.

"And your son?" asked Halt.

"He'll come into his inheritance," she said. "He's a good lad, but he gets on better without me around to pick fights."

"So you've come to plague me instead." In contrast to his words, Halt sounded pleased by the prospect, and Kate grinned.

"Do you think Araluen is big enough for the two of us?"

"It'll have to be."


	7. Chapter 7

Kate padded across the floorboards, hoping she wouldn't accidentally find a squeaky one. The light through the cabin window was the soft gray of pre-dawn, and no one else was stirring yet. She'd pulled an oversized tunic from the wardrobe on over her shift and wrapped the blanket from the bed around her shoulders. She put a pot on for coffee and settled at the table to watch the sunrise.

It was only a few minutes later when the door to the other bedroom opened and Halt came out. He was carrying his boots but was otherwise fully dressed. "Morning," he said.

"Sorry," said Kate. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"You started coffee," he said. "That'll bring all the rangers in the vicinity."

She smiled.

"You're not going to make fun of my coffee, are you?"

"That was one part desire and one part yanking the chain to see who would squeal."

"Impossible child." He took the seat across from her and started lacing the boots.

"It's so quiet here," said Kate, threading her fingers together under her chin. The trees that surrounded the cabin seemed to muffle the bustle from the castle on the rise and its accompanying village. There was only the wind sighing softly through the pines and a few early birds warming up their burbles and chirps. She wanted the stillness to sink into her bones and permeate her entire being, to loosen the armor around her heart as easily as she could loosen the braids in her hair. It was very different from the wide open spaces and the cliffs atop the sea that had been her home.

"Too quiet for you?"

"I don't think so," said Kate. "It reminds me of when I was small—we made sandcastles on the beach. Do you remember?"

Halt nodded.

Almost as soon as the coffee perked, Gilan and Will trailed in, tousle-headed and sleepy-eyed. Gilan went straight to the cupboard for a mug but Will made an effort to say, "Good morning." Halt gave them three minutes before standing and slinging his quiver over his shoulder.

"Time stands still for no one."

Carrying a mug for herself, Kate accompanied the rangers to the clearing where the targets were set and watched them practice. The grass was damp with dew and cool against her ankles. She found a log and seated herself, pulling the blanket close to keep out the chill. The morning routine was a series of exercises designed to keep the rangers' specialized skill sets honed to perfection and would warm the others by action.

After the first round of shooting, where the target depths were varied and they'd had to deal with the shifting and blinding light of the sun rising in the east, Gilan glanced over at the woman sitting silently to one side and commented, "Tough crowd."

"Do you need applause now?" asked Halt, raising an eyebrow at his former apprentice.

"No," said Gilan. "It's just... most people say _something_."

"You're a decade too late," said Kate, who had been reserving her opinion because she didn't want to be asked to put her money where her mouth was. "I've seen this before. You display competence at your profession—which is as it should be."

"You would say something if we were awful, right?" asked Will.

Kate chuckled. "If you were awful, I'd have a few words to say on the subject, aye."

There was a gleam in her brother's eye that made her nervous. When Halt offered her his longbow, which seemed to have mysteriously come unstrung, she knew why.

"Care to try?"

She made a face. "What good is a stick to me?" But she rose, leaving the blanket behind, took the bow and braced one end against a sapling and hooked her ankle against the other end, each movement indicating familiarity with the weapon. Even with mechanical advantage, it wasn't easy. She strained against the weight until the string went into the notch and the bow was strung. Kate laid an arrow across the string, eyed the targets, and set her feet. Fighting the draw-weight, she sent two arrows to the inner rings and a third missed the target entirely to vanish between the trees on the far side of the clearing. She handed the bow back to Halt. "Satisfied?"

"I see you didn't forget _everything_ Pritchard tried to teach you," said her brother.

"Try mine," said Will. He carried a lighter recurve. He knew the difficulties in fighting a weapon that was too big for you and thought the change might help Kate's results.

This time all three arrows lodged in the target, flying in rapid succession.

"And mine?" suggested Gilan. If Halt's had been too heavy, and Will's too light, his would be... just right.

"What does this prove?" asked Kate. She was rusty. She hadn't shot a bow seriously in years and it showed. This time she took more care with sighting and the triad lined up neatly in the center ring. She handed the longbow back to Gilan.

"Just thinking," said Halt.

"Oh?" said Kate. "Any chance of redeeming myself with another weapon?"

"How often did you beat Marc when the two of you sparred?"

She shrugged. "At least a third of the time?"

"I concede," said Halt.

"You're no fun."

"You want fun, you can go a round or two with Gilan. He actually knows what he's doing."

Kate went back to her coffee. "I doubt the Courier Service cares if I have above-average archery skills."

"You want to be a Courier?" asked Halt.

"I thought I'd give them a chance to offer, since apparently I can pass as one." She narrowed her eyes. "Unless you have a better idea."

"I might," said Halt. "The Couriers deal with foreign diplomacy as well as internal politics. The Ranger Corps work on a local scale and see more action."

"You'd be good," agreed Gilan, clearly remembering what he'd seen from her in action the day before.

Kate considered the idea. "I think I'd enjoy being a ranger. It seems meaningful and straightforward... and challenging at the same time."

"She'd have to be an apprentice first," said Will. "And pass the tests. That doesn't sound hard."

Halt raised an eyebrow at his apprentice. "Then why are you so worried about the gathering?"

"...I've missed two assessments already!" said Will. "Even if they decided that I passed the first one."

"But they'll be easy for me, is that it?" asked Kate. Her half smile was similar to the one rarely worn by her brother, and for a few seconds the family resemblance between the two siblings was plain to see.

"I'm sure of it," said Will.

"Thank you for your confidence," said Kate.

This time Gilan considered the logistics. "Even if Pritchard was interested in finishing what he started, he's no longer an active ranger. Halt already has an apprentice..."

Will looked at Halt, certain he'd already seen the solution. There was another full-fledged ranger in the group, after all, one with a vested interest in the success of the project. Halt nodded. Kate's half smile grew.

"I don't know if that's such a _good_ idea," she said.

Gilan finally caught on. "Me? _Me_?"

"I'm sure I taught you everything you need to know to polish the few rough edges," said Halt.

"I don't have rough edges," said Kate.

Will almost choked with laughter, and Kate winked at him. It was already obvious the woman shared many traits with her brother, one of the most obvious being her blunt directness and disregard for diplomacy in private conversation.

"Well," said Gilan, resigning himself to the task. "At least we know Halt passed. And so did I, so this shouldn't be too hard..."


	8. Chapter 8

After Castle Redmont, Castle Berean was small and blocky; a fortress atop a river bluff. Limestone and granite mixed in the thick curtain wall, but most of the buildings were done in split local timber. Gilan and Kate left their mounts in the hands of a stableboy, and entered the square keep. Late afternoon shadows kept the stairs dim and cooled the air.

Kate shifted the belt at her hips as she climbed, liking the feeling of the weight of the double-knife scabbard riding there in addition to her sword. Halt had kitted his sister out with his spare set of gear and she now looked like a ranger in a dark green tunic and patchwork hose, her lean frame obscured by a stiff leather jerkin. She kept her hair braided back and tucked up under a dark knit cap. The ranger cloak of mottled green rested easily on her shoulders and her heels tapped softly on the stone pavement.

In contrast, Gilan moved without a sound.

Reminding herself that she was a ranger now—or would be one, once the apprenticeship papers were signed—Kate concentrated on making her steps light, letting her weight flow instead of bringing it to bear in a subtle psychological intimation of authority.

"Not bad," said Gilan, approving the difference.

The castle offices were unrelieved stone with narrow windows, which created an imposing atmosphere. Only a few clerks sat at their desks, guarding the baron's office, but their expressions were stern and businesslike. Kate perched on the edge of an uncomfortable bench while Gilan acquired the necessary forms and a page informed the baron of their presence.

One of the perks of being a ranger was that they did not have to wait long before the Baron of Merric was pleased to see them. The man barely glanced at Kate after the first introduction, more interested in hearing his own voice than anything else, even as she promised loyalty to Araluen and King Duncan. He was full of advice about the bandits.

"—You'll find the ranger life quite exciting, I shouldn't wonder, youngster! Now, sign here. Just an 'x' will do if you can't write your own name."

Kate felt her eyebrows raise fractionally and she accepted the pen, gritting her teeth to cage her tongue. It would be counterproductive to suggest that it might be this pompous knight's responsibility to see that his people were educated before they came of age. She wrote out her name, resisting the temptation to add decorative flourishes to the otherwise unadorned signature.

"—Kate Shannon, is it? Isn't that a girl's name? Your parents must have a strange sense of humor."

Kate nodded, her face neutral. A thin smile masked the way her stomach twisted under the cavalier attitude. She'd heard worse slights before, and as long as it was only words she would keep her peace. The baron thought himself hilarious and laughed loudly at his own joke, slapping her on the shoulder before signing the last paper and adding the official seal.

"Welcome to the Corps, Shannon."

"Thank you, sir," she murmured. It was far pleasanter in the open air, and the mule actually lifted his head with interest when he saw her. Blaze rubbed her head against Gilan's shoulder, welcoming him back. The ranger glanced over at Kate, and looked startled.

"Kate? Are you crying?"

She smiled, and this time the expression was genuine. "Oh, hush. Don't you remember how it felt the day you signed your apprentice papers?"

"Yes, but that was because I was going to learn from _Halt_ and... and... you're his sister! What do _you_ have to be nervous about?"

Kate bit her lower lip, stifling the laughter that threatened to bubble up and discomfit the ranger further. She arched a brow. "You're telling me that my brother has something of a reputation?"

"Aye," said Gilan. He swung up onto Blaze and gathered the reins between his fingers. As they rode through the village Gilan tried to explain how he saw Halt and Kate to an increasingly amused Kate. "And I've yet to see anything that suggests you're anything less than his match."

"Thank you," said Kate. It was one of the finest compliments she remembered receiving, and all the better because for all his hero worship of her brother, the young man had shown himself a decent judge of people.

"I was wondering..."

"Yes?"

" _Did_ your parents have a sense of humor?"

"What do you think?"

"I'm having a hard time imagining either of you with parents," Gilan admitted. "Are they like you? Only older? Or what?"

"Older," said Kate. It was sad, but she thought she'd spent more quality time with her in-laws than her parents. She hoped she'd done better for her son—but it was hard to say for sure. She didn't think she'd have considered following if _her_ mother had walked out.

"Oh."

Warm sunshine slanted between the hardwood trees of the forest below the castle. The air was thick with an approaching summer storm and the sky was streaked with brilliant blue and thunderous gray. Blaze nickered and quickened her pace. The mare recognized this stretch of trail as leading 'home' and that meant she would be groomed and turned out to pasture for a bit. The mule picked up on her eagerness and started to trot, jostling Kate's teeth in her head. He was as willing to avoid the coming deluge as anyone else.

Gilan threw out his hand as they rounded a bend in the trail. "It's not much, but we like it," he said.

Kate studied the cabin with its split wood shingles and tightly set log walls. Nestled among the trees, it looked homey and welcoming. There was a paddock and a smaller log structure that served as a stable and a well set in a central location. Firewood was stacked along one wall, and two apple trees grew along the path between cabin and stable. "I've seen worse," she said, finally.

She slid off the mule, glad to be on the ground again. Halt had visited the Redmont stablemaster and returned with a saddle, but even with the extra padding the mule had a bony backbone. They saw to the comfort of their mounts before Gilan led the way inside and gave her a tour of the cabin's two rooms.

The floorplan was similar to the one in Halt's cabin: a bedroom on one end and the rest of the space a single room. Food supplies were tucked away in a closet near the stove and cabinets. There was a bookshelf under the window and a heavy oak table that doubled as a desk. "Do you want the loft?" asked Gilan. "Otherwise, you could have the main bedroom if—"

Kate was happy to take the loft. It looked cozy and private. She tossed her pack up through the hole cut for the ladder and hung her weapons on the rack next to the door. She wondered if this new occupation would prove as difficult to master as keeping a bunch of mules moving in the same direction or if it would only be a variation on what she'd already been doing for much of her life.

"Make yourself at home while I do some paperwork," Gilan suggested. He seated himself at the table and wrote up a report on the capture of the Woodgrove bandits. They'd discussed the bandit organization with Halt before leaving Redmont, working from what information could be gleaned from the sheaf of notes and the combined experience of the rangers.

Kate massaged her aching muscles and reflected that her first assignment as part of the Corps was going to be more difficult than that of the average apprentice. Thunder rumbled in the distance and Kate hummed in satisfaction. She took Gilan at his word and rummaged through the cabinets for supper while the ranger made two copies of his report. One was for the baron and one was for Crowley. The storm broke overhead, rain lashing against the windows.

_Welcome to the Corps._

The baron's greeting meant little after the reunion with her brother. Being offered a place near Halt—trusted and useful— _that_ mattered. It had been like finding a long-lost piece of her heart. Gilan and Will exercising their wit while Halt made breakfast had been a more fitting induction to the family. She slid a bowl of fried sausage and greens in front of Gilan in time to read the extra note for the Ranger Commandant.

_Shannon, from the caravan that was attacked, showed initiative and assisted me in the hunt. Other skills include tracking like a master and proficiency with the sword and bow. It seemed a shame to waste so much talent so I took Shannon as my apprentice. We'll see how it works out._

Gilan grinned as he dug into his meal. "Halt was right. Having an apprentice has its perks!"

"Aye," agreed Kate. "The younger generation are a delight to have around at times."

"Ouch." He pretended to be wounded. "I'm going to have get used to that subtle humor all of over again."

They were up again at dawn, honing Kate's long-neglected skills. From weapons practice to spending hours with Gilan's maps so Kate could familiarize herself with the lay of the land to learning the history of Araluen, the following days were busy. Gilan did his daily rounds while Kate studied, and they usually finished the day with another practice session at the targets. Every evening, Kate climbed the ladder to loft pleasantly tired.

The return letter from Crowley arrived in the middle of the second week. Kate's heart did a sudden flip-flop in her chest. Halt had seemed to think it all matter-of-fact, but maybe Crowley had enough rangers already. Maybe she'd have to apply to the Couriers after all.

But the message was short. It made the ranger roll his eyes before he passed it to her.

_Don't be too cocky, young Gilan. Just because you want someone to do your housework doesn't mean_ I _need another sword-wielding prodigy. Please drive home that being a ranger is hard work and takes a special mindset._

"You're not disappointed I hire the cleaning done, are you?" asked Gilan.

Kate raised an eyebrow, covering the fact that she'd momentarily thought she was anything less than welcome. "No? Should I be?"

"Well," said Gilan. "Halt gave me a grand speech about how we didn't live in castles and how the work doesn't do itself and so on when I was an apprentice. But my budget covers having a woman come down from the village and I feel like I've scoured enough pans to last a lifetime so if I don't have to do it..."

"I feel the same way," said Kate. She saw exactly where Halt was coming from, and guessed there might have been a lesson underneath the menial tasks, but she was disinclined to celebrate her new country and identity by scrubbing floors.

"So that's not a family thing?"

"Pretty sure that's a Halt thing," she said.


	9. Chapter 9

[9]

There was a clearing some ways from the cabin. It overlooked the river valley and there was an enormous boulder with a flat top where Kate could sit and let the stillness soak into her bones. Araluen had more trees than she was used to in Hibernea and it was novel to be at ground level and look down on a forest canopy. She'd brought along a condensed history of Araluen and some maps and the book lay open beside her—she was supposed to be studying—but her thoughts wandered.

She'd believed she could cast away her old life as easily as she'd thrown off the baubles and bangles at her wrists. But she felt invisible chains winding through her habits and ingrained responses. There was a bitter aftertaste to every draught of peace in her cup of satisfaction, the image of her son in wavering torchlight bearing up under the snapped web that had ensnared her, and a half-forgotten memory of another dark-headed boy shouting, _And doesn't anyone care about what_ I _want?_

Kate toyed with the saxe knife, rolling the hilt in her fingers, one more weight to be juggled.

_So this was what it was like on the other side_.

A hawk soared overhead, looping in large, lazy circles through a cloudless sky. Tiny peepers kept up a chorus all around and a jay scolded. The wind rustled the leaves, showing the paler underside of the ash and aspen's green foliage. Kate had never had the leisure to grow tired of silence, or to miss being surrounded by constant activity. The novelty did not contribute to remembering the line of the kings of Araluen and eventually she stabbed the saxe into the grass at her side, the blade biting as deep as her irritation.

She wasn't supposed to feel _homesick—_ not for that place, not for its problems, not for people who didn't need her so much as they needed a bargaining chip _._

She dragged the saxe out of the ground again, feeling the resistance of the turf and matted roots. It left a dark scar—not a clean cut, but one spilling crumbs of earth. Grimly, Kate gathered her things. If the knife was a representation of her frustration, her old habits were bleeding through and she wasn't going to accomplish anything sitting here, stabbing at problems she could no longer control.

Mindful of each step she took, Kate ghosted through the forest. Few would have noticed her as more than a branch disturbed by the wind or a deer bounding through the underbrush but she was acutely aware that she _could_ be spotted if one knew what to look for. Gilan delighted in calling her out in the training exercises. He'd told her that when she could pass the horses in pasture without their noticing, she would be at the peak of a Ranger's skill. Kate's counter that while animals had senses humans rarely utilized to such a degree, they were as susceptible to routine as anyone else was met by a grin.

"Ranger horses are trained to notice," Gilan said.

Kate wasn't sure if he was teasing or not. His initial assessment of her skills as 'not bad' seemed to have been based on her role as an interested civilian. Either way, she wasn't going to achieve perfection today. The mule was not a ranger horse, but it raised its head, eyes tracking her through the trees and clearly deciding whether she was about to make it work. Kate made a face. No moral boosting incidents for her.

Blaze stood by the porch steps—saddled and ready to go—a sure sign Gilan was going out. He'd been doing all the work of hunting down the bandit ring while Kate spent her days killing targets. The ranger appeared in the doorway, pulling the strap of his quiver over his head. He spotted Kate crossing the open space between the stable and cabin and waited for her to close the distance between them so he wasn't yelling his plans for the forest to hear.

"I'll be back late. You should be able to handle anything that comes up."

"I should," agreed Kate, confident that it would have to be something along the lines of a full-scale invasion before she was out of her depth.

"Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

She crossed her arms, fighting an urge to grin. _Cheeky boy._ "Likewise." Gilan waved cheerfully in response and left.

With the ranger gone, Kate took Gilan's favorite chair and spread her papers out over the table. She wasn't in the mood to memorize King Oswald's parentage, or finally identify which fief was Norgate and which was Norcliffe. However, she could start identifying patterns in the letters taken from the bandits. In the weeks since she'd signed the apprentice papers they'd made only a little progress against the larger ring. There were notes to put in order. They had spent several evenings in common rooms in little villages across Merric, listening to people drink and talk which resulted in bits and pieces of information. Kate organized everything into lists of names and contacts and confirmed attacks and she carefully marked them on a map she'd copied for that purpose.

Halfway through the task she got up and made herself a cup of coffee.

It was late afternoon when the mule brayed a welcome to someone outside. Horses responded, snorting disdain at their ugly cousin. Kate shoved her chair back and was at the door to watch the baron and a group of knights stop in front of the cabin. She'd pulled her hood forward, and the the westering sun left the door in a deep shadow.

The knights, like most Araluens Kate had met, seemed wary of a ranger's rumored powers of dark sorcery and they shifted uneasily in the saddle while the baron called a greeting.

"Hullo, Ranger! How goes the bandit hunting?"

Kate answered politely, unsure if it was his idea of a joke or if he was serious. Her eyes roamed over the visitors. The little group's gear was light—if they'd been hunting they'd only been after small game—and they might have come to her on purpose rather than a whim. One of the knights was splashed with mud, and wore his sword close at hand. The baron chuckled as if the lack of visible success was of little importance.

"You'll be glad to get Sir Lionel's report, then. He's just had himself a run-in with the vermin."

Without waiting for an invitation, the baron swung down from his horse and he and his entourage entered the cabin. Kate claimed the seat she'd been using, and the baron took the other chair. Lionel was the travel-stained knight. He had curly brown hair and a pleasant face that turned stern as he gave a verbal report. Long, lean, fingers toyed with the hilt of his sword as he told how the bandits had set on one of his farms and stolen the livestock and supplies.

"We arrived too late to do anything but put out the fires and bury the remains."

"Did they leave a trail?" asked Kate.

Sir Lionel shrugged. "I had my hounds out, but they ran every which way... it looked like the livestock had scattered in every direction to confuse the scent."

Kate hummed softly as she traced the events on her new map. The baron leaned forward, all interest. She'd drawn a spiderweb of events in colored inks to mark the different bandit groups and now the map showed invisible lines leading back to the hypothetical center. The other knights crowed around, interested by the baron's praise of the thoroughness of the work.

Preferring not to be crushed against the table, Kate shouldered her way out of the group. The knights reminded her of Lionel's dogs—rushing in every direction without a clear scent to follow, and the baron was not interested in leading them. Most of them were young and had more experience in a tournament arena than on a battle field. One of the knights was pale and nervous as he traced the evidence of the well-informed leader's hideout.

"All this trouble from just one man?" he asked.

"Indeed," said the baron. "We're lucky to have—" He broke off and blinked at Kate. "—Shannon, isn't it?" She nodded, and he continued. "We're lucky Ranger Shannon seems to have the situation well in hand."

"Thank you, sir." To late, Kate remembered that she probably owed the baron a courtesy title. Fortunately, he didn't seem to have noticed her lapse and Rangers were supposed to be notoriously independent. "Sir Lionel's report is very useful. Based on his intelligence we'll be able to use his manor as a staging ground when we take a company of soldiers to round up the troublemakers."

Sir Lionel bowed. He was one of the few who seemed to understand the situation. "It will be an honor."

"When do we move?" asked the baron.

Gilan would never forgive her if they left without him, but Kate wasn't about to let an opportunity like this slip through her fingers. "How soon can you have the company ready?" She was assured the troop would be ready and supplied by noon the following day.

"Excellent," said Kate. She'd not expected as much from the baron, but despite his bluster he seemed to be a man of his word—and his clerks were very efficient.

"Tomorrow?" asked the pale knight. He blinked several times, as if astonished that such a feat would be attempted.

"You don't have to come along if you don't have the stomach for it, Jason," said the baron.

Maybe he'd meant to be kind, but Kate thought there was a flash of something else in Jason's eyes as the knight bit his lip and mumbled that he hadn't meant it that way.

Kate was on her third cup of coffee and had checked her notes four times when Gilan came in. She looked up, unapologetic at being caught in his chair.

"What's this?" asked the ranger.

"Tomorrow we're hunting bandits," said Kate. "The baron said so."

 


	10. Chapter 10

It had been raining all day, soaking through the layers Kate wore and constantly pooling on the protective covering over her weapons. She shook herself as she entered the inn, droplets joining others on the floor. Kate shifted her feet out of the puddle while her eyes adjusted to the interior lighting. Heavy oaken beams criss-crossed overhead, and lamps hung at intervals, swinging gently and throwing patterns of light and shadow over the long room filled with tables. At this hour, the common room was bustling with custom. She scanned the room, noticing how silks and velvets mingled with the coarser, rain-spotted, woolens of the working class. The owner of this establishment clearly considered himself to be running a reputable house that drew patronage from people with money to spend.

A serving girl in a dark kirtle and apron hemmed with the colors on the sign outside approached Kate, smiling. "Right this way, please."

Kate allowed herself to be led to an empty table near a warm brazier. Her first action was to rub her hands vigorously over the fire. She'd ridden for days and every muscle in her thighs declared it hurt more than the next. Her eyes felt as if they'd been rubbed in coarse sand. But her quarry was in sight—he'd been similarly escorted to a table near the back of the room.

"What can I get you?" asked the girl.

"Coffee," said Kate. "Black."

No plan of attack survived first contact with the enemy, though the troop of Merric soldiers and knights had performed above her expectations. Neither Kate nor Gilan had realized the pale young knight was really the bandit leader, but instead of using the tip-off that the Rangers were wise to his organization to vanish, he'd decided to fight instead.

Kate cupped her hands around the mug the girl brought her, relishing the warmth against her skin, and eyed Sir Jason across the room. _More fool him_. The false knight had tried to fight seasoned troops when he didn't have the experience to counter a coordinated attack. The bandits were quickly routed and Sir Jason and his second-in-command had abandoned the fight early, jumping in a stream to escape.

_He'd thought it would be easy_.

Leaving the Baron and Sir Lionel to handle the prisoners and clean-up, Kate and Gilan picked up the trail again about a mile downstream. The pair had split up two miles later, their fieldcraft as weak as their defenses. The rangers tossed a coin and Kate took the left fork. With a fast horse stashed in the next village, her quarry had outdistanced Kate in the sprint but she hadn't lost him as he dodged across Araluen.

Outside, thunder rolled, and the summer rain drummed against the windows. Kate angled herself on the chair, keeping the motion casual, and stamped her heel against the plank floor. It was solid underfoot, and had been sanded smooth by use and care. With one hand, she adjusted her sword, moving it to a more comfortable position at her side. It was an instinctive motion, ingrained from years of use, and Kate caught herself glancing over her shoulder, waiting to see Marc's smile before moving in and ending the chase.

Marc wasn't there.

Neither was her brother, or Gilan, or a troop of soldiers to back her play. There was only Sir Jason, paces away, bragging to his two companions about how clever he was.

Kate sipped her coffee. She might be wet, and cold, and tired, but she was an Araluen Ranger now, and there was work to be done. She saw no reason to extend the chase further. If the bandit's web of contacts extended further, they could be rooted out later. The girl approached, ready to offer Kate dinner, but the ranger waved the girl away. Draining the mug and setting it down in a smooth movement, Kate rose to her feet and stalked across the room.

The crowds parted before her—but Kate expected that, counted on it, and used it to her advantage. With the ranger mystique to uphold, the comeuppance of appearing behind Sir Jason while he was bragging about fooling the corps was deliciously satisfying.

"Left the rangers behind on Sir Lionel's lands, did you?" she purred. "Don't you know we recognized you then, Sir Jason? There's a length of rope with your name on it for your crimes." Her hand came down heavily on the knight's shoulder.

Sir Jason yelped.

"King's Ranger," said Kate, in case it wasn't clear to the entire inn who and what she was. "Sir Jason of Whitside, I arrest you for banditry on the king's highway and organized conspiracy against the laws of the crown."

He struggled and jerked away. His eyes were wild under his fashionably long hair, and when they focused on the sword at her side, Kate knew there wasn't an ounce of sense in Sir Jason's body. She'd suspected as much when he fought instead of running back on Sir Lionel's lands. He proved it again when he drew his weapon.

"Rangers don't carry swords."

Kate waited, projecting boredom to the crowd watching the little drama unfold. She'd played to an audience her entire life, using their expectations and assumptions to further her purposes. They'd hem the bandit in, keeping him inside a circle she drew and feeding his embarrassment at being bested by someone smaller and weaker than himself.

Sir Jason lunged and was surprised to find the thrust blocked by Kate's blade. She felt the vibration of the strike all through her hands and arms, but the knight was raw power and little technique. Kate parried, aiming to force him into a corner between two tables and hamper his range. After all, he _was_ younger and stronger—but she'd been forcing fighters to underestimate her for years.

Screams and shouts from onlookers mingled with the clash of steel on steel. Kate reminded herself that there was no one to watch her back this time, and spared a scrap of attention for movement in her peripheral vision. But no one tried to come to Sir Jason's aid. The other occupants of his table seemed to have been smarter than him and run for the door.

The false knight seized a branched candlestick off the bar and jabbed at her, trying to hamper her sword. It was an old trick. Kate dodged out of the way and leaped on an empty bench. The far end came up, slamming into Sir Jason's chin and knocking him backwards. Kate's momentum put her back on the floor, taking two steps to regain her balance, but Sir Jason was dazed and had left himself wide open. He went down, looking comically surprised.

Food and drink had been spilled, and there were shards of pottery on the floor where a dish had broken. "Fights in inns are so untidy," Kate muttered. She bound Sir Jason's arms with only slightly more force than necessary and flipped the innkeeper a coin. "Can I get another coffee?"

He bowed and hurried to comply. "Of course, Ranger!"

The city guard arrived and Kate turned her prisoner over to the sergeant, her explanation short and to the point. Sir Jason stirred as he was picked up and dragged out to the prison wagon. He focused on Kate.

"I'm going to kill you," he announced, his speech slightly slurred.

"Here, now, none of that—" said the sergeant.

Kate raised a hand. "Do you swear it?" she asked, keeping her tone dismissive but pitching it to carry through the entire room.

Sir Jason bristled. "Aye!" he snarled. "I swear I'll hunt you down and—"

"I've seen how ye keep your oaths, sir knight. And if ye can't be bothered to honor your king, what chance have I that ye'll keep your word?"

She figured there was a decent chance that the false knight would come after her should family connections or money buy him a reprieve; but watching Jason try and process the insult almost made up for the days in the saddle and the bruises from the fight.

The door slammed shut behind the city guard and their prisoner before Sir Jason put together a retort, leaving Kate with the last word.

Satisfied, she downed the last of her second mug of coffee and left the mug on the bar. "Good coffee," she told the innkeeper. Stepping outside Kate was mildly surprised to find that there was still color in the sky and people bustling through the streets. The rain had paused. If she looked up, she could see Castle Araluen looming overhead, a white vision on the hill. She rubbed her eyes. She'd come further than she'd thought.

Kate took a deep breath. The important part was finished, but she still had to file a report to mop up any loose ends. Since she was here... She had to meet the Corps Commandant sometime and she couldn't think of a sensible reason to put it off.

She went through the castle gates as part of a group of people. The guards didn't blink at her mottled gray cloak and quiver of arrows. Kate knew there was an office in the castle where Crowley worked. She took several moments to orient herself, and then hunted down the wing and level set aside for the Ranger Corps by leading a page to believe she'd been given confusing directions.

The helpful page left her in an arched entryway, and she assured him she knew the way from here. The wing was quiet and mostly empty, the soles of her boots making a soft shuffle on the tiled hallways. But just through the ornate atrium there was the oakleaf seal in an enormous mosaic on the wall, and two old men chatting with each other. A pot of coffee bubbled cheerfully over a brazier next to the desk. Paintings of cloaked figures hung in the shadows.

Kate straightened her shoulders and strolled toward the desk. "I don't suppose you have any extra report forms? I'd like to get a head start on one since I'm here anyway."

"Sure, sure," said one of the rangers. He wore a gold oakleaf, which Kate remembered meant he was retired from active duty. "What was the trouble?"

"Bandits," she said. "Chased one halfway across Araluen before he stopped running."

He shook his head. "Tricky critters." He passed across the form and a pen.

"Thanks," said Kate, and retreated a few steps to a small table where there was light from a window slit. "Say, where is everybody?" She'd expected a few more people. Most royal offices, no matter their function, had hangers-on and under-pages and senior pages and apprentices and clerks.

"They've gone to the Gathering. Gilan is supposed to have a prodigy for an apprentice."

"Is that so?" she inquired. No one had mentioned to her that she'd acquired a reputation or was expected to be the center of attention. Kate had known the Gathering was less than a week away, but had successfully been ignoring the fact. Nervous butterflies blossomed in her stomach. She'd have to ride fast if she and Gilan were to make it on time.

"You going to spend the night here? You look done in," said the other ranger.

Kate had been planning on getting a room at an inn. But of course there would be housing for rangers. She sighed. "I think so. It'll be nice to get a good night's sleep for once."

A page was hauled out of a corner where he'd been reading a book and sent to prepare a room.

"Say—which fief are you from? That's the problem with getting old. One starts to forget these things."

She flashed the curious rangers a thin smile. "Merric. I'm Shannon. Gil and I split up—he took the leader and I took this one."

They studied her with interest. "So you're the prodigy. Not a bad day's work, taking in a bandit by yourself—and filling out the report afterward."

"I don't feel so bad about missing the Gathering now; the main attraction came here for us." A broad wink informed Kate the ranger was teasing.

"If I'm the main attraction, it must be very dull indeed," said Kate. She signed off with a flourish and handed the report back. "You can file that—or read it. I'm going to turn in."

"Come to supper," urged one of the pair. "You can tell us about Gil as a teacher."

A knot in Kate's stomach eased. They liked her. She smiled back. "Sure, why not?"

 


	11. Chapter 11

The road wound through pleasant farmland, and it was just right: not too wet and not bone dry so that each of the mule's footfalls sent up a cloud of cloying dust. Dinner with the retired rangers hadn't gone so badly, Kate reflected. They'd brought up the fact that she was a woman half-way through, but had been too polite to comment on her age. The bandit thing seemed to be a mark in her favor and they'd parted on good terms. But when she finally reached the cabin she found a note instead of a ranger. Gilan had gone ahead to the Gathering. On one hand, it was flattering that Gilan had the confidence to assume she'd be fine. On the other, he'd forgotten one very important detail. Kate had no idea how to reach the Gathering Grounds.

She hoped she could catch up with Halt and Will before they left Redmont. If she couldn't, she would have a difficult time striking the trail and that would be the end of pretending to be a ranger. If she failed... she might have to go back to the life she'd left.

Or she could go down into Iberia and put together a pirate crew and raid the high seas. At one time that had sounded like a valid life choice.

Redmont valley unrolled before her like a tapestry, checked with green and a few golds and pale cream where there were grain fields and herds at pasture. The sky overhead was a cloudless blue. The mule shook his glossy black head as the first of the summer flies began to investigate his ears. "Just a little further, then," she told him, and picked up the pace.

Clattering across the drawbridge, Kate looked around. Who would be the best person to ask the whereabouts of a ranger? She didn't have time to fool with ceremony and presenting herself to the baron, and while the baron's steward might know, he wouldn't necessarily understand why she needed to ask _him_. Could she find her way to the helpful scribe...?

"Good day to you, ranger," said a woman, pausing on her way across the courtyard. She was pretty, with a round face and a wave to her dark hair. She dressed like a courtier in a gown of fine brocade, but she had a basket of vegetables and herbs over her arm. She also had a Gallic accent.

" _Salut_ ," said Kate. "It is a fine day, isn't it?"

The woman's smile brightened further, and she chattered a reply in Gallic. Within minutes, Kate learned that she had met Lady Annabelle, wife of Sir Rodney the Battlemaster of Redmont. Further, Lady Annabelle had a soft spot for rangers who spoke any amount of Gallic, because it had been Halt who translated for the lovestruck Rodney when they met Annabelle on a trip into Gallica. "It was ' _orrible_ ," said Annabelle. "But very sweet."

"I told him all along that he needed to practice," said Kate, feeling slightly smug. She could just imagine how her brother had mangled the sentiments Rodney had wanted to convey.

"He is some better now," said Annabelle. "Almost as good as my Rodney. But you have known Halt a long time?"

"He's my brother," said Kate. "Actually, as it happens, I was wondering if you knew where he was?"

"You have just missed him. I believe he left yesterday with his apprentice on a short trip."

Kate sighed. "Maybe I can catch him. Do you know which way he went?"

"Which way who went?"

Lady Annabelle was joined by a tall, slender woman with a commanding presence. Almost unconsciously, Kate straightened her shoulders and raised her chin to meet the white-gowned courier's imperious gaze.

"Lady Pauline! May I introduce to you this ranger, a relative of Halt's?" Annabelle turned back, half-laughing, half-embarrassed. "But I do not even know your name!"

"It's Kate," said Kate, just to watch the courier's fair eyebrows raise fractionally.

"Caitlyn?" asked Pauline, hoping to return the favor.

"I prefer Ranger Shannon," said Kate. "Do you have a room where we can chat in private?" Anyone who knew that much about Halt's family surely would have an idea of how to get to the Gathering Grounds, and Kate was prepared to browbeat or cajole as the occasion demanded.

Lady Annabelle was the first person to be wholly delighted by the revelation that Kate was a female ranger. She insisted that a stableboy take the mule off to be groomed and fed while she did much the same with Kate. Annabelle looped one arm through Kate's and led her along into the castle keep. Lady Pauline accompanied them, clearly planning her own strategy.

Safe in the quarters shared by Annabelle and her husband, Annabelle turned on them both, her pleasant face turning stern. "I don't know what makes you look at each other like stray cats, but it is silly. Pauline, do you know where Halt is?"

"The yearly ranger gathering," said Pauline.

"Where is that?" said Kate. "There was a noticeable lack of directions. I believe Gilan totally forgot I hadn't actually been there before and I intend to dress him down most severely for the oversight."

"What makes you think I know?" asked Pauline, settling on the edge of one of the comfortable chairs drawn around the round wooden table. Her smile was still thin and lacking in sincerity.

Kate smiled, preparing for battle since Pauline was determined to be stubborn. She liked Annabelle, but her family had never shied from public arguments. "I rather think a good courier would know most of her boyfriend's secrets."

Annabelle paused in putting the pot on for coffee. " _Voila!_ The sister knows!"

"Is it a secret?" asked Kate.

"Very much," said Annabelle. "Everyone wonders and no one knows, not even I, who would have much sympathy for the lovers. And you find out within two seconds."

"Ah," said Kate. "Well, I wasn't planning on satisfying the curiosity of the general public—if that's what you're worried about." She sympathized with Pauline's desire to shield the couple's privacy. If Pauline's motive for keeping silent was on Halt's behalf the two women could be friends. If not, they would continue to eye each other warily.

"You are a ranger?" asked Pauline.

"Gilan's apprentice," corrected Kate. "I'll only be a ranger if I pass the first year tests."

"And you can't do that if you don't get there," said Pauline.

"Exactly. Unless this is part of the testing process and I'm cheating by asking for your help—?"

The elegant courier shook her head. "No. I—only know a little," she said. "It's a ranger secret and thus professional courtesy to curb my curiosity on the point."

Sir Rodney had an excellent collection of maps, and as an old friend Pauline knew where they were kept. She pulled out one showing Redmont and the surrounding fiefs and spread it out on the table. "We are here," she said. "The Gathering takes place somewhere near the edge of this radius. I believe it is in this vicinity." Pauline tapped a location on the map with one manicured finger. "As a ranger, that ought to be enough, yes?"

Kate nodded. If she pushed the mule, there was still hope of overtaking her brother before he vanished off the path into the wilds. "Thank you," she said.

"Do you have time to tell us more?" asked Annabelle. "I should like to know how you come to be a ranger at this time."

"Well..." said Kate. She wavered, then pulled out a chair and sat down. It would feel good to unburden herself of a little of the history that had driven her from her childhood home. These were old friends of Halt, and their curiosity about a previously unmentioned—or little mentioned—sister was understandable. She spun her tale between a few of the most pertinent facts: Pritchard had taken refuge in Droghela when the Ranger Corps was under threat of dispersal for lack of relevance and taught Halt and Kate the beginnings of their craft. Halt had gone to Araluen and Kate had married Marc Shannon, a guardsman for the royal family. Now that Marc was dead, Kate followed her brother. "We are a sharply divided family," she admitted. "Old feuds haven't been set to rest and I couldn't bear the attitudes anymore. I am sick of pretending to respect the king who left my husband without reinforcements on the wall—and—so I left."

Annabelle and Pauline listened with growing sympathy and by the time Kate had finished, both women had come over to fold her into warm hugs.

"I'd give you step by step directions if I could," said Pauline. "And—if the Rangers are short sighted and don't take you—I will. The couriers will welcome you just as the rangers welcomed your brother. But you have the best of them on your side already."

Kate smiled, deeply touched by the depth of feeling shown by her new friends.

"Isn't there anyone you will miss?" asked Annabelle. "Or who will miss you?"

"My son, perhaps," said Kate. If she was honest, Sean Marc would miss his mother desperately. But he was less tangled in the old fights and the only wound was the divide between Kate and the king. Sean would manage.

"You should write to him," said Pauline. "I told Halt time and time again that he ought to write and tell you that all was well with him."

"I never got such a letter," said Kate. If she had, some of the intervening years would have been easier to bear. Not knowing what had become of her brother had been a deep-seated hurt. She had tried to pass the years of separation off as a light thing, but from the look on Pauline's face she had not entirely succeeded.

"So you know what it will mean to your son."

"Yes," agreed Kate. There were other considerations. What if someone else read the letter before it was delivered? Could she write without mentioning Halt in such a way that prying eyes would discover him? "I—will think about it."

 


	12. Chapter 12

The countryside around the Gathering Grounds was wild and lonely. Kate had avoided villages for the last few kilometers, taking her path along the trees which grew to mark field boundaries and staying low on the horizon line. Her caution was rewarded when she spotted another rider wearing the mottled gray and green. She didn't recognize the man—and from the way he slowed his pony and turned in the saddle he'd noticed her as well.

Kate allowed the mule to draw even with the pony and returned the man's stare. The Corps had a superlative reputation, which was entirely understandable now she knew Halt was one of them. But were all Rangers as talented as the few she'd known? What would this one make of her? The Ranger wore his cloak tossed carelessly around his shoulders, his brown hair pulled back in a ponytail, and there were creases around his bright blue eyes that suggested good humor. He was working hard to keep a straight face.

She waited.

Would he try to draw her out, fishing for information, or would he question her presence? Either way, the first move was his to make.

He made a commendable effort at keeping his voice even when he finally spoke. "Did—did you loose a bet with Gilan, Halt?"

Kate raised one eyebrow. "Now why would you be thinking a thing like that?" She'd forgotten her gear had once belonged to her brother. It wasn't a charade she could keep up for long; all too soon she'd reveal she had no idea how things stood between this Ranger and Halt, but every scrap of information was another point to her.

"The mule? No beard? Strikes me as something that would appeal to Gilan's sense of humor and we all know he's been trying to catch you out."

"You don't say," said Kate, very dry.

"Then that's not the explanation?"

"I'm afraid not." It was a valiant attempt to interpret what he was seeing, though, and the Ranger seemed more disappointed than anything else by her answer. Kate volunteered a bit of information in return. "If it's any comfort, you've come within range of the correct target. I'm Shannon; Gilan's apprentice."

The Ranger frowned at her, reassessing what he saw and what he knew. He extended a hand and she returned the firm handclasp.

"Berrigan. Are you... related to Halt, by any chance?"

"The odds are good," she said. "Same mother, same father."

"Good to know," said Berrigan. "Do you mind if I tell people that Halt lost a bet?"

" _I_ don't mind," said Kate. "The question is, do you really want to risk it with Halt?"

He chuckled. "I'll take my chances." He looked at her again, meeting her skepticism, and shook his head in bemused wonder. "Amazing. It must be the glare that sells the resemblance."

"Oh, aye," said Kate. Sour looks and an expectation of disappointment were trademark expressions in her family. She shrugged and urged the mule back into a slow amble. Her mount sighed and shook his ears as the pony matched their gait.

"You're Gilan's apprentice?"

"Aye."

"But this isn't your first apprenticeship."

The corner of Kate's mouth quirked. "True enough." She'd started them in the same direction they'd been traveling and now they were moving side by side. Berrigan knew their destination and he'd unconsciously steer them if he was subtly in the lead. "There've been at least two others."

Berrigan nodded. "Impressive. What brings you to the Corps?"

_It'd been offered._

Kate sifted through the layers. She'd been drifting. Tending a string of mules was something she'd only intended to do once. Being a Ranger utilized her skills. It gave her purpose. She bit back a laugh as she came to the heart of the matter. "As cynical and pragmatic as I like to think myself... the answer is idealism. I took the apprenticeship thinking that _here_ I could make a difference; that the laws I uphold—the king I'd serve—are just."

In the end, it didn't matter if Sir Jason bought his way out of jail or if the system wasn't perfect. He'd been caught in wrong-doing and his machinations smashed. Even if he put the web of bandits back together, the Rangers had bought the area time to prosper without fear. The laws the false knight and others like him scorned were the rule and not the exception. The Araluen people had somewhere to turn, a king they trusted with their problems. Being a part of the Ranger Corps matched a picture of how Kate thought the world ought to look—not how it was, but the world she _wanted._

She took her eyes off the horizon and met Berrigan's considering look. Whatever he sought in her face, the answer he saw seemed to satisfy him.

"And where is Gilan?" asked Berrigan, glancing around as if expecting the other ranger to appear out of thin air. With a reputation as one of the best unseen movers in the corps it was not an unreasonable expectation. He'd relaxed, though, and now there was a teasing glint in his eye.

"He rode ahead," said Kate.

"Leaving you to find your way alone?"

"I'm some kind of prodigy," said Kate. "Or so gossip in Castle Araluen says. Most of the retired rangers showed up just to meet me."

"Really?"

"Unless Thirman and Scott were yanking my chain."

Kate spotted the first specks of white which marked the lines of tents. She squared her shoulders. She had arrived. Her escort made no move to draw off on his own, intending to see her safely in Gilan's company, she supposed. Kate watched the canvas structures, looking for some mark to identify Gilan's campsite. She saw Blaze first. The bay mare was picketed next to a fire ring and tent. Blaze nickered a greeting and the mule brayed in response. Heads turned. Kate reached forward and clapped her fingers over her mount's nostrils, cutting off the sound. "Here, join your friend," she told the mule and tied him next to Gilan's mare.

Gilan and Halt appeared in the gap between the tents.

"I found your apprentice!" called Berrigan.

Kate caught the faint flush on the face of the younger ranger. So Halt had already raked his former student over the verbal coals, had he? But they'd both believed her capable of overcoming the obstacle. She raised an eyebrow at her brother, and Halt returned the expression.

"I wasn't lost," she said, and ducked into the tent to rid herself of her pack. Inside, there was the enclosed, slightly musty smell of canvas that had been packed away in the loft for almost a year. Sunlight filtered through the thick weave and pooled on the sleeping mats which had been neatly laid out. There was a partition down the middle for privacy. Kate knelt on the bed on the side where the blankets were already laid out, her knees pressing into the ground and creating wrinkles in the covers. She took several deep breaths and steadied her nerves. She might have won Berrigan over in conversation but she would prefer to pass a few tests before the corps as a whole got down to discussing her age and gender.

When she came out again, Berrigan was gone and it was only Halt and Gilan waiting. She put her hands on her hips and stared back in challenge. "Well?"

"I give up," said Gilan. "How _did_ you find your way here?"

"Oh, I have my sources," said Kate, darkly.

There were three first year apprentices to be assessed at the gathering. Kate had arrived just in time to join the first test. The two boys introduced themselves as Jack and Matthew, and Kate said her name was Shannon. They commiserated with one another about their nervousness.

Looking up at their much taller companion, who kept the mottled hood of their cloak pulled well forward over their face, Matthew asked what they were both obviously wondering. "Did... did you have to repeat a year?"

"You could say that," Kate told them.

"That's awful," said Jack. "I think I'd just die if I had to repeat a year."

The ranger assessor, also muffled and anonymous in his cloak, called for silence and handed out the tests and the charcoal pencils to mark their answers. "You have fifteen minutes," he announced, turning over a sand-glass to mark the time.

The questions were easy for Kate, who could scarcely remember a time she hadn't been familiar with history and tactics. Her long pauses of contemplation were on the advisability of getting a few questions wrong. In the end, she decided not to try to fake ignorance, and went with answers she was reasonably certain were correct.

After handing over the tests, the apprentices retreated a respectful distance to watch.

"How do you think we're doing?" asked Matthew, biting his lip as corrections were marked.

"You're fine," Kate told the boys.

"But we're doing about the same as you," Matthew pointed out. "Whipple is circling the ones we got wrong, and if anything you have the least circled."

"I... don't expect anything to go wrong until the practical." Kate stretched her legs, massaging a cramp that had crept in while she had concentrated on writing.

"Why would you expect anything to go wrong?" demanded Jack, his eyes going wide. "What happens in the practical?"

"It wouldn't be that bad," said Kate. "Only... that's when it will become abundantly clear that I am not Halt."

Both boys looked at her. "Why would you be expected to be Halt?"

"He's my brother."

Two sets of mouths dropped open. "And... you already failed once?" asked Jack.

"I'm trying not to think about it," said Kate.

"Is that fair?" wondered Matthew. "My craftmaster is _always_ telling me that 'a castle isn't built in a day, and neither are a ranger's skills'. I mean, Halt's a legend. And you're not. Yet, anyway. So you shouldn't have to perform like one."

Kate appreciated the sentiment. All her life she had deliberately held herself to a high standard, but joining the Araluen Rangers was meant as a fresh start; one with _different_ expectations. She could take Matthew's assumption that she would be a legend in stride, smiling at his confidence, and let her skills speak for themselves. "Thank you," she said. "Sometimes I forget that detail."

The three apprentices lapsed into silence, waiting to be told what they could have improved. The noise of the camp was a faint drone in the background. Kate amused herself with trying to pick out individual conversations. Someone was getting teased for their lack of cooking skills, and someone was tuning their instrument. All three apprentices startled violently when they were approached from the side. Kate's hand closed over her knife, prepared in case it was a threat, or a test.

"Nails chewed to the quick yet, youngsters?"

Matthew hid his hands, which made the ranger chuckle. He wore the gold oakleaf of a retired veteran. He was a wizened little man, his eyes bright and sharp under pale brows. His hair had thinned to nothing, and his trim beard was a snowy white. Good humor was written all over his face.

Kate blinked at him several times before realizing she remembered him well. "Pritchard!"

In turn he studied her, noting the incongruities that marked her out from her far younger companions. "Who—?"

She smiled. "Remember the tag-a-long child at Dun Kilty?"

"Well, I'll be! Not little Kate! And have you come to be a ranger at last?"

"Yes. If they'll have me."

He chuckled. "I'll put a flea in Crowley's ear if he doesn't." The old ranger gave her a rough bear hug and thumped her on the shoulders. "Just remember what I taught you—!"

"It's served me well thus far," she assured him, sliding the knife back into its sheath.

 


	13. Chapter 13

Crowley stopped at the small farmhouse, and was surprised when the farmwife informed him a pigeon had flown in with a message for him the day before. The station for the Gathering Grounds was rarely used, and he only stopped because they'd made an effort to set it up. He was even more surprised when there were several sheets of light paper. Whatever needed his attention, the retired rangers had felt it required a detailed report.

"I'll have a cup of coffee for you in a jiffy," said the farmwife, showing the Ranger Commandant to a bench just outside the door.

He nodded, grateful for the woman's thoughtfulness. With the stone wall of the farmhouse at his back, sunlight warming the packed earth, and chickens clucking to themselves as they wandered around the hooves of his dozing horse, it was a pastoral scene. Crowley settled himself and started deciphering the tiny writing that covered both sides of the small messages.

Thirman and Scott went on at some length about Gilan's new apprentice, who had apparently chased a bandit leader across several fiefs and brought him to justice in view of Castle Araluen itself. They were very impressed with Shannon's abilities.

Crowley hadn't noticed when the mug of coffee was placed next to him on the bench, but he sipped it gladly. No child should be able to do what the report said Shannon had done, no matter how precocious or prodigious their abilities. Gilan would have been irresponsible to have _let_ a child attempt the feat. Since there was no mention of Gilan suffering grievous injury, Shannon... was coming to the Corps with skills honed somewhere else.

Mulling over the problem, Crowley thanked the farmwife for her assistance and said he'd stop by again on his way back from the Gathering. His pony flicked a black ear in his direction.

_Trouble?_

They were far enough away that no one would hear the Ranger talking to his horse. "Maybe," said Crowley. "Just wondering where Gilan's apprentice's allegiance lies. This Shannon sounds too good to be true."

 _But you trust the people telling you Shannon is good_.

"That's the problem. None of them are easily fooled."

Cropper snorted. _Everyone makes mistakes sometimes_.

"Yes, but all of them?"

_You should get Halt's opinion._

Crowley smiled wryly under his hood. There was nothing like the solid good sense of a ranger horse to point you in the right direction.

Arriving at the Gathering Grounds, Crowley was swept up in greeting and catching up with comrades he hadn't seen in almost a year. Sure, the Corps kept a lively correspondence but it wasn't the same as talking. Even here, Shannon was a sure-fire topic of conversation. Rangers liked knowing when one of their own had taken an apprentice, and it sounded like Gilan had been pleased with Shannon's progress. In addition to the gossip there was the usual nonsense running around. The running gag for the year seemed to be that Halt had shaved, which made Crowley smile. He couldn't recall Halt wearing anything other than a full beard—sometimes better trimmed than others. There was sure to be a story there, even if it was just someone willfully denying the possibility.

"You met Shannon yet?" wondered Jergan. The older ranger had been one of the first to greet the Commandant. Jergan's most recent posting was in Keramon fief, and he'd been busy mopping up the last few stragglers from Gorlan's rebellion. It made him more skeptical than most.

"Nope," said Crowley. "You?"

"Not yet, but I'm beginning to doubt reality will live up to expectations."

Crowley related the letter he'd received from Araluen. Jergan frowned, drawing similar conclusions to the commandant.

"Should be interesting," said the Keramon ranger, and patted Crowley on the shoulder. "I don't envy you your job, old friend."

The sun was going down, and several rangers were working together to build the traditional bonfire when Crowley spotted Halt. The Ranger Commandant had to work to keep a straight face as he approached the Redmont ranger.

"Halt? Is that—is that _you?_ I didn't recognize you without your beard!"

"Oh, aye, I thought it was time for a change," said Halt, easily. His apprentice, sitting on a log nearby, nearly burst trying not to laugh.

Crowley snorted. "You'll never change, you old rascal." He waved his hand at the neat rows of tents, and the growing number of rangers as they left off more serious pursuits and gathered for fellowship and entertainment around the fires. "You met Gilan's apprentice yet?"

"Aye."

"That's it?" grumbled Crowley. "No thoughts on whether the boy bit off more than he can chew? No enthusiastic praise for the prodigy?"

"Prodigy?" said Halt. "No. Just hard work."

Crowley squinted in the dying light, trying to read Halt's expression. Close-mouthed at the best of times, Halt usually had more to say about prospective apprentices. Halt shrugged, and gestured to a little knot of rangers across the fire pit.

"Judge for yourself."

Gilan's tall frame was easy to recognize. Crowley decided the figure next to the young ranger was the mysterious Shannon—tall for a first year, and standing with an attitude Crowley associated with some of the more militant barons. Shannon's cloak was thrown back, revealing a dark knit cap. The commandant frowned. It was not the most promising of first impressions; Shannon moved like someone accustomed to wielding authority, no matter how pleasant a conversationalist or skilled a fighter they turned out to be. It wasn't an attitude Crowley wanted to encourage in fledgling rangers.

In the pleasant hum of conversation, there was the soft _plink, plink_ , of an instrument being tuned. Berrigan was warming up. Crowley took a seat on a log and kept an eye on Shannon. Many songs and stories later, Berrigan pulled Shannon forward, asking for a story.

The apprentice would have demurred, but Gilan sounded enthusiastic at the prospect. "Yes, do!"

It was a strangely familiar gesture as Shannon scooted forward on the log and looked into the fire for inspiration. "Have I ever told you about the time there were cultists in the west county?"

An innocuous enough beginning, but one more suited to a seasoned ranger, Crowley thought. And there was the rolling Hibernean accent...

"There are always cultists in the west counties," said Berrigan. "But do go on."

"Their leader preached a sun god and the usual fare: prosperity and all its trappings. It was as fishy as closing at a two-day market but he had a good voice and a stage show to dazzle everyone who came to hear him. So he was pocketing a fair bit of coin and getting louder until it wouldn't have been enough just to escort him to the border and turn his pockets inside out."

"What did you do?" asked Gilan.

Others around the fire were stilling to listen.

"Borrowed a load of jewelry and such from the royal treasury and suddenly there was a moon priestess on a converging road. She talked up how much of a braggart the sun was and how little one really got to show from their donations: sunburn and scorched plants usually. Everyone knows that growing happens at night when good little boys and girls are safe abed knowing that the moon is watching over them."

The fire snapped and crackled as the logs settled. The leaping flames illuminated Shannon's face, and Crowley didn't think he was imagining the resemblance, not with all the jokes about a clean-shaven Halt. Shannon sipped from her cup with a reminiscent smile, her audience already captivated.

"All nonsense of course, but it rang true with local lore. Everyone loves an argument so in no time at all our sun chappie had to face off against the priestess and denounce her as a liar. Marc and I maneuvered him into naming a certain day and time—Marc prodded and I stood by and looked down my nose in a most aggravating fashion. The people loved it and everyone showed up to see the show."

"You stood by?" asked Berrigan.

"Priestesses don't talk to their rivals. They have servants to do that."

A ripple of laughter ran through the audience. "But—a priestess?"

"It completed the rivalry. The sun plays up one kind of beauty, the moon another. The ladies would have dragged their menfolk in just for a look at the jewelry alone, even without promises of more promises. Besides, I'm prettier than Marc." Shannon turned her wrist as if she were flipping back her hair and encouraging admiring swains, and was rewarded with another laugh.

She had most of the rangers gathered around the fire turned toward her, waiting for the finish of the story.

"So the sun chappie gets up and is starting his spiel about how the moon is a weak vessel and fickle into the bargain for she turns her face away at certain times of the month. I rebuke him sternly and tell him to mind his manners or worse will happen to him. He ignores me, of course, and so I do thus—"

In a single, theatrical movement, Shannon stood, handing Gilan her coffee cup as she did so and raising her arms over her head. It was only a trick of the light, but the fire cringed away as she moved and lent force to the gesture.

"Hear, oh sun! Thy arrogance shall be cast down—not tomorrow, or someday, but e'en this very hour!" She followed with a rolling string of Hibernean curses, getting into the role once more. Stunned silence met her, and she dropped her arms and favored them with a wide grin. "People in the audience shrieked that the end had come. They were crying out in terror. The sun chappie looks up and goes white as a sheet. A black disc is creeping over the sun. It doesn't take much before he's at my feet and begging me not to smite the world with darkness. I relent, though it's obvious he's hoping to still salvage something from the ruin, because it is the characteristic of the goddess to be merciful. I have the crowd eating out my hand, I tell them to be good boys and girls for the moon is watching even when you can't see her, to cheer for the king, and tell our sunny friend not to boast so much about what the sun can do in the future. _Then_ Marc and I escort him and his folk to the border, turn out their pockets, and watch them slink away."

Feet stomping, a few whistles, and applause greeted the end of the story. Shannon bowed and took her coffee back.

"Huh," said Berrigan. "Not bad. I think I'll ask Crowley to lend you to me for awhile. I could use a pretty partner."

"You'll have to get the jewelry from the treasury," Shannon warned. "I only wear the stuff when someone else is paying for it."

Crowley recognized Pritchard's dry chuckle. He nudged Halt. "You ever hear that story before?"

"Second-hand," said Halt. "Kate told it better, though."

 _Kate Shannon_. Thinking back over certain documents that had crossed his desk, reports of more pressing interest to the diplomatic corps than the rangers, Crowley mentally slotted several puzzle pieces into place. It was no longer any surprise that Shannon had an impressive skill set; in fact, he'd have been more surprised if she didn't.

"And you think this is a good idea?"

"I want her here," Halt told his friend. "That's as objective an answer as you're going to get."

"Hmmm," said Crowley. The matter would take some thought, then. Maybe another conversation with Cropper now that he had more insight into Shannon's origins.

Gilan joined them, his teeth flashing in a grin. "What do you think?" he asked.

Crowley threw an arm over Gilan's shoulders. "Given the fact that Shannon is Halt's sister didn't make the list of things you ought to tell your Commandant about your new apprentice, I think we need to have a little chat about what I need to know and what I don't."

 


	14. Chapter 14

Morning was only the glimmer of an idea when Kate slipped out of the tent. She tasted the crisp air, breathing deep to drive sleep from her eyes, and felt the dew beaded on the canvas, chilling her fingertips. She wiped her fingers on her tunic before pulling her bow and quiver from the tent, careful not to shake dew onto the weapon. There would be archery contests again today and a contest was not practice. Her performance on the course and her storytelling skills might gain her a position in the Corps, but opinion was still balanced. There was no room for slacking.

She'd sent off two arrows before there was a heavy thud into the target next to her. "Mornin'," said Halt.

"Mornin'," said Kate. This was like old times, just the two of them before the shooting butts and the sun climbing into the sky and sending out banners of gold to touch the fletching of their arrows.

"What, an apprentice, up early?" asked another voice. Kate flicked her eyes to the side and saw that there were another couple of rangers who didn't rest even on vacation. "Will wonders ever cease?"

Kate drew another set of arrows and knocked the first to the string. "I have to catch up somehow," she said.

"Slacked off, did you?" said Pritchard, taking the spot to her left with a familiar chuckle. "I taught you better than that, girl."

"Didn't have a certain party dragging me out of bed at unholy hours anymore," she said. "But I beat him to the field this morning."

"I wasn't aware it was a race," murmured Halt.

"I take every victory I can get," she said.

"You wrote the rules and _neglected_ to tell me what they were."

"You didn't ask."

"You're Halt's _sister_?" guessed one of the other rangers. But there was no outrage in the question, only the subtle _click_ of pieces sliding together to complete a puzzle. Both siblings nodded. "Oh, that explains _so much_!"

Kate bit her lip, trying to hide a smile at how in this group the novelty was not a woman wielding a weapon, but one of their most respected members having a sibling to tease. She could grow very fond of this view of how the world worked, where one was judged by how one completed tasks, not by expectations of who ought to perform them.

Her hands moved smoothly through the motions, doing her part to keep up the steady rhythm of arrows thumping into a target. Center shots in the shifting dawn were difficult—but that was the point. Once you got to the point where judging distances were instinct you didn't need to see to line up a shot. Kate wasn't the best at the exercise, but she wasn't the worst.

By unspoken consent, they knocked off as soon as the sun was fully up. Kate collected her arrows and returned them to the quiver. Those in the small morning practice group came by and shook her hand before turning their attention to breakfast. "Welcome to the Corps," she was told.

"I still have to pass the apprentice tests," Kate demurred. Accustomed to fighting tooth and nail for everything she wanted, it'd become a habit to point out the possibility of failure, preparing herself for the worst possible outcome so she could meet it head on—brush it aside as if it didn't matter—even when it _did_.

"Wait—doesn't Crowley _know_ who you are?"

She shook her head.

"Oh, the teasing we could give him if he decides not to take her," said the same ranger who had identified her as Halt's sister. "He's usually out here in the morning."

"I bet he's tearing his hair out over our 'prodigious' Shannon."

"But it's so obvious once you know," said another. "And Berrigan, the snipe, has already spoken up for her first mission. Does he know?"

"He does," Kate admitted. "He's the one who started the 'beardless Halt' rumor."

"That's so unfair," said someone. "I heard it from _Halt_ , and I still did a double-take when I saw you."

"And even if you'd already seen Halt at the Gathering and knew he looked just as usual... you just never know if Gilan pulled it off or not until the _next_ time you see Halt."

"You heard it from Halt?" asked Kate.

"The moment where Francis believed what I was telling him was priceless," said Halt.

There was a round of appreciative laughter. Pritchard shook his head. "Pranksters still, the pair of you."

Kate took a cup of coffee when it was offered, feeling her heart warmed by the words. It was still strange to look up and see her brother. Stranger still to have him and his friends support her and include her in their light-hearted teasing. Strangest yet to believe that these were true friends, not just court hangers on hoping for a favor.

 _Araluens_. _Trust. How odd to think she might come to think like them in time._ She remembered, all too well, her many arguments with Clonmel's king. Ferris had never believed her capable, even as he relied on her to keep him situated on the throne. She kept expecting the rug to be pulled out from under her—if not by Halt, then by someone else. But Halt nodded solemnly in her direction and she grinned back, showing all her teeth. Crowley would be just as receptive as the other rangers she'd met. The practical exercises would be a breeze. S _he wasn't going to let Halt down_.

The boys were already there when she returned to the shooting range.

"Mornin'," said Kate.

Matthew mumbled a reply, his eyes fixed on the far end of the meadow where Whipple, one of the rangers scoring the apprentices, was setting the targets for the first year examination.

"Harder than you practiced?" asked Kate.

"N-no," said Jack. "But now it matters."

"Do you remember what it felt like when you made your best shot?" When they nodded, Kate continued. "Think about that when you're shooting. Take your time—but not too much. Your hands know what to do."

She took her own advice when Whipple called her turn. She closed her eyes and briefly imagined the satisfaction of hitting the target that very morning, the way the fletching had felt against her cheek, the _thrum_ of the bowstring when she released, and the crisp _thunk_ when the arrow went home to the center.

Whipple gave her a sharp look. He hadn't attended the early morning practice session. "You're a first year?"

"First year as a ranger," said Kate. "I've been shooting since I could walk."

"It shows," he said.

By the apprentices' tally Jack would have the worst score. He wasn't fast enough moving from target to target, and he'd missed the center twice. Kate thought it was because he was growing and his old set of expectations no longer held true.

The main event of the day would test multiple skills at once: tracking, critical thinking, ingenuity, and speed—and would be observed by most of the corps. Rangers derived a great deal of pleasure from watching apprentices struggling with strange barriers and impassable bits of landscape. Other apprentices joined the trio of first years, scuffling the still-dewy grass, wrapped in their cloaks. The older apprentices were comfortable enough to talk to each other, and they refrained from teasing the youngsters even as they bemoaned their own possible fates.

"Is it as bad as they're saying?" asked Matthew.

Kate looked out over the obstacle course. It looked fairly standard from here, but she expected invisible traps to be avoided. "Depends on what sort of obstacles you're accustomed to, I suppose."

From the sidelines, Pritchard gave the three apprentices a thumbs-up gesture.

Crowley, with his fading red hair, was a distinctive figure. He strode through the crowd, taking position on a box and raising a hand for silence. A scarlet ribbon fluttering from his upraised fingers drew every eye. When the hum of chatter ceased, Crowley explained the order of the course before adding, "There is one of these for each apprentice hidden on the course. You'll need to find one to finish." He paused for a brief moment, allowing the instructions to settle, then dropped his hand, sending the pack of apprentices off at once.

Kate, feigning the unconcern that had shielded her through her entire previous career, stretched leisurely before starting. Jack and Matthew, both set to bolt after the others, paused, and then followed her lead.

"Where do you expect ribbons to be hidden?" she asked.

They brainstormed several ideas and marked which spots were already occupied by eager apprentices. Then the trio ran and jumped and climbed and picked the path of least resistance. Kate held her pace down to that of the boys and led them over a series of small gorges with flying leaps that were the product of a childhood spent going after birds nests on the Hibernean cliffs. Because they trusted her, and she made it look easy, the boys followed her without fear. Matthew, the smallest, was boosted up into a tree to pluck a ribbon from the highest branches. Jack spotted one under a rock. They picked up their pace on the final stretch and came in with one of the best recorded times and the possibility of one of the highest scores.

Whipple looked with keen interest at the hourglasses which marked the time. "Shannon's reputation as a prodigy seems well deserved. Gilan had some idea what he was getting when he recruited this one."

As they approached the bench where Crowley and the other ranger assessors sat, Matthew realized something. "You didn't get a ribbon—!"

"You'll see," said Kate. She tucked her thumbs into her belt and announced that she had finished the course with the other two.

Crowley made a show of checking the sheet where they'd been scored. He smiled at Jack and Matthew. "Good teamwork. Very good. And—you must be Shannon. A bold stroke, taking the lead." If he was startled by Kate's face, it didn't show. Maybe he was one of the few rangers who hadn't heard the joke. "But I believe there was one final qualification—?

"The instructions were to _find one of the red ribbons,_ " said Kate. She smiled thinly. "There's one in your belt pouch. Or, there was." She passed the bit of silk back to the ranger commandant. "Of course, if you'd rather the locations of five still out on the course..."

Crowley marked the sheet. "The first years are done," he told Whipple, turning away without another word to Kate.

 


	15. Chapter 15

Kate met the final challenge with characteristic bluff aplomb: chin raised, the toes of her boots dug into the turf to steady her stance and her thumbs hooked in her belt, one hand near the comforting weight of the double-knife scabbard. The senior members of the Ranger Corps had ranged themselves around a rough trestle table, cowls raised to present a blank uniform before the newest candidate. Late afternoon sunlight filtered through the canvas sides of the tent, laying patches of gold across each mottled cloak and making it hard to see the ranger underneath. Still, there were other ways to identify a man than his face and Kate felt she would now recognize Halt anywhere.

Her brother sat at the far end of the group and Pritchard, his hands lean and marked by age, was next to him. Berrigan was relaxed in his seat, the designs on his bracer etched into the dark leather distinct among the other men. Whipple she picked out by the scuffs on his worn boots. It was little different than distinguishing a mark in a crowd and yet the Ranger Commandant—the ranger Kate most needed to sway to secure a position among the corps—remained anonymous among the others.

She missed the swing of heavy earrings against her cheek, the brush and flash of cold gems to impress her viewers that she was a force to be reckoned with, the subtle reminder to keep her spine straight and her chin high. In a traditional setting, Crowley would be seated in the center, and she could easily stare down those ranged against her. Now she had no way to gauge if her gamble on the field had furthered her position. Instead she picked a spot above the head of the rangers, fixing her gaze on the place where the tent's supports were joined, and waited for the questions to begin.

The first queries were simple, directly concerning her abilities and what she might do in various situations faced by the Ranger Corps. Years of experience gave Kate ready answers. There was little she would not have asked of anyone where the positions at the table reversed.

Whipple cleared his throat. "Shannon. Before coming to Araluen, you served in the King's Guard of Clonmel."

"Aye," said Kate, narrowing her eyes. There was something in the way the Ranger asked the question that made her wary. The Guard had a reputation of which she was justly proud, but it seemed the Corps did not hold the same view.

"Would you say that you still owe Clonmel your loyalty?"  
It was the country of her birth. She knew the cliffs and pastures like the back of her hand. She knew the streets of the city, and the people of the city and palace compound. She had thrown her life into the balance for them all, and come forth victorious and lauded.

"I owe her king _nothing_ ," Kate said, biting out each word with the memories of the last argument ringing in her ears and making her furious all over again. If it came down to a choice between her son and Araluen—well, Sean Marc was reasonable. But the man she'd propped up for years? The man who had spent Marc's life without a second thought? She'd stopped being a buffer between him and his folly. She'd walked away. She'd spat in his face. "The ties between us are severed."

"But if a situation arose between Araluen and Clonmel, what guarantee do we have that you will not change loyalties yet again?" asked another ranger.

"I offer the same guarantee you have asked of my brother," said Kate. If it was good enough for Halt, it was good enough for her!

Pritchard nodded as if he had expected no less.

Her eye picked out Crowley now; he had glanced quickly at Halt.

Whipple picked up a sheaf of papers, shuffling them in his hands as if to impress her with the depth of their detective work. "Your ties to the king are much closer than Halt's ever were. As a former member of the King's Guard, your loyalty was to Ferris—"

"But I did serve in the Guard," said Halt, quiet but implacable, ready to argue the point on Kate's behalf.

There was a familiar dark feeling at the back of Kate's throat. It was clearly an argument she wasn't going to win, and dragging out the family history would do none of them any good. Kate's first loyalty had been to Halt, and she wasn't going to let him lose his place for no reason. A thrill already running in her veins, like the rush of battle, she spoke quickly. "No, no, it's a fair point. Twenty years instead of five—and a different king—"

"And all to prove that our Kate is more of a diplomat than Halt," said Pritchard. "We'll be having no complaints about her going off to do her own thing."

The retired ranger spoke calmly, as if there were no heated tempers or tangled loyalties to resolve. His years in the Hibernean court had rendered him immune to the glare Crowley threw at him.

" _That's_ the guarantee you offer? The same circumstances that render her suspicious are proof of good faith?"

"What more do you want?"

Kate met Crowley's gaze, though the ranger's face was shadowed by his hood, rendering him unreadable.

"Are you prepared to pledge yourself to Araluen, Shannon?"

"Aye," said Kate. "It'd be easy enough to keep out of foreign relations and deal with the local troubles only."

Crowley dismissed her with a wave of his hand. Kate stepped outside and drew a deep breath. She remembered how prospective members of the Guard had looked when she sat in judgment on them. No wonder they were nervous. With your position on the line it felt like your every flaw was on display, and no matter how confident in your skills you were, there was still a nagging feeling that you could be better—that each impassive face hid secret scorn.

She was surprised by how much she wanted to be a member of the Corps. It went deeper than simple enjoyment of her duties, was more than the pleasure of being near her brother—if that was all she needed, she could find somewhere in Redmont fief and contract with the Baron's Guard. But Halt had been right when he'd said that being a Ranger would be good for her. She'd sloughed off several layers of cynicism, and found they'd been heavier than any jewelry.

She wasn't going to beg Gilan for a hint as to her fate, though his cheerful demeanor was reassuring. Halt and Pritchard were sanguine about her chances—had probably argued in her favor—but they were biased. The Corps already had one Hibernian export and the ranks were filled with competent Rangers. Kate thought if she'd had talked with Crowley she'd know where she stood in his estimation—what she'd need to do to get what she wanted. But aside from her encounter with the Commandant when she finished the apprentice assessment he hadn't met with her. Maybe he'd learned all _he_ needed to know from observing her. If the Senior Rangers gave her an oakleaf, it wouldn't be because she'd manipulated her way into the position, it would be because she had showed herself to be qualified.

Kate tried to hang on to the thought.

* * *

The tent flap dropped in place behind Kate Shannon's retreating form. She'd captured her audience until the very last moment. Crowley thought Whipple might have forgot to breathe as she turned to go. The Commandant chewed his lip. Her presence had been the first thing he'd noticed; the way Kate turned heads and inserted herself as an authority figure. Considering her history it was understandable. Pritchard and Halt insisted she'd make fewer waves than Halt's abrasive personality, but Kate Shannon was hardly inconspicuous.

"Well?" said Berrigan. "What do you think, Crowley?"

Crowley stalled by asking a question of his own. "Is everyone satisfied with Shannon's qualifications?" There was a chorus of aye from everyone except Halt.

Whipple noticed. "She's your sister—don't you want her?"

"I suggested her," said Halt. "That ought to make my position plain." He'd given his approval, and then tempered his influence by strict silence. But he'd been willing to argue on her behalf.

Her skills were without question and they'd covered Kate's loyalties. She'd shown no particular ties to Araluen or Hibernea, only people and ideals. He supposed the same could be said of most of the Corps, one just tended to assume that because an apprentice was Araluen they would work for the good of that country. She'd offered the same guarantee as Halt, which was funny because they'd never asked one of Halt.

The silence stretched out while Crowley considered. He knew what he was going to say, and there wasn't much point in dragging the tension on, but it would be drama worthy of Kate Shannon's position.

* * *

The apprentice ceremony took place on the last day of the Ranger Gathering. It had been as fine an autumn day as anyone could wish. The sun shone with mild hue in a sky as blue as the cornflowers which still bloomed underfoot. A light breeze stirred the meadow grasses, making it easy to slip about unnoticed. There was a pleasant sort of melancholy associated with saying farewell to good friends and the vacation from duty when the rangers gathered about the final bonfire. It wasn't dark yet, for the rangers from the southernmost fiefs would leave before dark and take several hours off their journey on the morrow.

Kate found a seat on a log. Gilan sat next to her, a cup of coffee in his hand, chatting with Jergan. Kate found she couldn't concentrate on the conversation. She'd even found it difficult to choke down lunch, and chiding herself over being as nervous as a green apprentice hadn't quieted the butterflies in her stomach. She wiped sweaty palms on the knees of her trousers, and then repeated the action when she wasn't satisfied with the result. Her casual air of if-I'm-in-I'm-in-and-if-not-there's-always-piracy was slipping. She'd tried to rehearse both success and failure impartially but with little success.

Conversations died as Crowley appeared and headed toward the front of the assembly. There wasn't much ceremony in the Corps, but this was a public acknowledgment of the service a ranger proposed to undertake, witnessed by the body of his fellows who would hold him (or her) responsible if they turned aside from duty.

The sun was low enough in the sky to draw golden highlights in Crowley's fading red hair as he cleared his throat and pulled out a rolled up sheet of paper. Kate rubbed her hands against her knees gain, trying to keep the movement small and silent. There were only three names... this wouldn't take long...

"Jack Cooper, apprentice ranger."

Jack stumbled to the front of the gathering and took the bronze oakleaf on its chain with a dazed expression. There was applause, which the boy didn't hear.

"Matthew Bakerson, apprentice ranger."

Matthew was up from his seat like a shot and raced forward. His grin split his face from ear to ear. "I'll work hard—I swear it!" he said, shaking Crowley's hand as he took the bronze oakleaf. It slipped through his fingers and Matthew swooped to catch it.

Crowley looked at them and smiled. Then he read the last name. "Kate Shannon, apprentice ranger."

Kate got to her feet and went forward. She didn't trip over her own feet, but she felt like she was walking in a dream. The bronze leaf was light in her hand, its surface still warm from the contact with Crowley's palm. "Thank you," she said, almost overwhelmed by her feeling of relief. She fastened the chain around her neck, letting the oakleaf settle against her collarbone. The weight helped ground her. It signified duties and responsibilities—but she'd chosen these.

She blinked back tears and realized that the roaring in her ears was applause. The assembly was on its feet for their newest members. Looking out over the crowd she saw Halt was smiling. Will looked like it was his silver oakleaf he was cheering. Gilan gave her a salute. Berrigan was as enthusiastic as any. Kate felt a slow smile curve her lips.

_She was home at last_.

 


	16. Epilogue

Annabelle was waiting at the gate, jumping up with a wide smile and a wave as soon as she saw the mule ambling up the hill. Kate smiled back, her heart warmed by the gesture of her friend. She dismounted and was greeted with a tight hug that made the trip worth the hours in the saddle.

"So, what's in this mysterious package?" asked Annabelle.

"You mean you haven't looked?" teased Kate.

"That would be tampering with the mail, and I'd only do that if I thought it would make you get here faster." Annabelle pulled her mouth into a mock pout, and Kate laughed.

"I have no idea," she admitted. "I'm as curious as you are."

Leading the mule, talking and laughing, the two women entered Redmont. They passed Baron Araldt in the courtyard, looking over a new, lighter, warhorse for his stables. His head was turned and eyes caught by the unusual sight of a ranger cloak in the company of a mule.

Kate waved. "Just visiting, Baron. No official business this trip."

Arald nodded, bemused. "Oh, I see. You ladies have fun then." He nodded again, beyond the point where anything would surprise him, when he saw Lady Pauline exit the keep, gather her skirts in one hand, and hurry down the stairs to join the other two. Rangers and Couriers. He didn't think he'd ever understand them, even if they were some of his best friends.

The mysterious package was a long, thin, crate not quite square on the ends. It was about four feet long and one foot thick. The wood had been splintered during shipment. When Annabelle dragged it out from underneath the sofa where it had been waiting, Kate had to press her knuckles to her lips. She recognized the shape. She suspected Annabelle had as well; the other woman was married to a knight, after all.

"Are you all right?" asked Lady Pauline, laying a hand on Kate's shoulder in a gesture of comfort.

"Of course!" said Kate, briskly. She dropped her hands to her sides, dusting them on the hem of her tunic. Kneeling, she drew her saxe knife to cut the seal on the rope binding the crate together. Someone had used a heated knife-point to burn the address into the side:

 

M. Shannon

care of Lady Annabelle of Redmont

Redmont Fief, Araluen

 

Tucked just inside the cover, riding atop a nest of aromatic cedar shavings, was a letter with the same address. Kate recognized the handwriting and she smiled fondly as she picked it up. But it was what lay beneath that had everyone so interested. Kate felt around, letting the shavings tickle her palm until she met with a hard leather case—and beneath the first, another.

She gasped and plunged in her other hand to draw forth two sheathed swords. The shavings fell away, leaving Kate staring at a matched set. " _S_ _acré-cœur_ ," she breathed, the Gallic the most acceptable way she could think of to express her feelings. "He sent them both."

Annabelle didn't even look offended. "What does it mean?"

Kate held the smaller sword a little higher before laying it crosswise across the open crate. "This one was mine." It had been crafted to meet her exact specifications, lean and balanced; a finer version of the cavalry sword she had in her other hand. The blade had etching near the hilt and there was silver wire on the grip. The chape on the scabbard was plain, the enameled design pried out by a jeweler and oiled to weather the finish underneath. Kate appreciated the thoroughness. "The other..."

She patted the letter she had yet to read, and swallowed down the tears that threatened to make speaking difficult.

"...The other belonged to my husband."

Sean Marc had sent her sword as a gift, support for her new vocation. He'd sent his father's to express his conviction that Marc Shannon would be glad his wife hadn't turned to piracy after all, that he'd be proud of her too. He'd sent the letter to thank her for taking Pauline and Annabelle's advice and writing to him.

 


End file.
